


Somersault

by Arien



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Doctor Who References, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 105,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arien/pseuds/Arien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixties London was an epicentre of change; a global youth phenomenon whose ripples changed the world forever. They were days of revolution, cultural somersaults and exciting new music. Most of all, they were days of love ... and the hippy-hippy shake.</p><p>Matt Smith/Karen Gillan 60s au!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is story purely fantasy - no disrespect is intended. I use real names of the actors but in my mind they are more characters cast in a different story. I do not mean to suggest that anything in this story actually happened; or believe that the actors/characters in question think or behave in any way depicted in this fiction.
> 
> I should also state that as this story is set in the sixties, there may be attitudes and roles undertaken by characters that is disrespectful or backward. Sign of the times! I am attempting to make the story as genuine for the setting as possible. :)

**May, 1966.**

The stately church of St Mary's The Boltons stood resplendent in the sunlight. Sun filtered through the canopy of trees in the gardens, feeding the rich, green blades of grass blanketing the earth. On a Saturday afternoon, the traffic passing the church grounds was scattered. Cars and buses hummed into view and then passed, easing their way amongst the multitude of little cars bunched up on the curb. Their windscreens glittered back at the sun; a grinning face in the blue, blue sky, unmarked by even the softest of clouds. 

Alistair Bramwell had worked at St Mary's since the war ended. The prominent limp he was born with restricted him from joining the army. During the Blitz, Bramwell had driven trucks filled with rubble out of the city. He thought it a small part to play given the roles of others, but he was grateful to be able to contribute on any level to the war effort. St Mary's had been his church, even then, and when it was damaged during the Blitz he had despaired. He swept glass from her shattered windows and carted away beams from the ruined roof. And after that ... he had never quite managed to leave St Mary's. He was employed as gardener and groundskeeper these days, honest work with modest pay. He maintained the gardens, the cemetery, and proudly kept the keys. 

 _Clack. Clack._ Bramwell's shears evened out the shrubbery, leaving behind a trail of green which dared grow out of line. He worked slowly but surely. To anyone else's standard, the church gardens would look perfectly presentable. To his practiced and proud eye, they needed a little more grooming. There was a wedding going on _right this minute_. They would take photographs on the step when they came out. The families would cherish those photographs forever. They'd pass them down to their children, and their grandchildren, and if God was good, one day great-great-grandchildren would look at them and marvel where they'd come from. Bramwell couldn't have a few twigs poking messily out of place and ruining the whole memory. 

Quite a large crowd had milled around the garden before leaving the generous spring sunshine for the pews. St Mary's was a cold church. Bramwell was glad his sister cleaned indoors, because it was too cold for him. The churchyard got the sunshine, and that was where he wanted to be. He would rather his joints ache from hard work than the cold. There was enough of that in London's long winters. Bramwell looked at the church steps. Yes, he should give those a quick sweep, because there was a bit of muck on them. Nobody's fault, not really, there'd been a fresh rain in the early hours. It stirred up the mud in St Mary's soft grounds so easily. His sister often complained how much got tracked indoors during the winter.

He put his sheers down in his red wheelbarrow and pulled out the stiffened, straw broom. Bramwell turned it in his hands. He'd mended it twice with thick, green tape, winding it around the weakened centre. He could do with another ... perhaps tomorrow, no, tomorrow was Sunday, he could pop down to the hardware shop Monday. There was enough in the church kitty for a broom.

Bramwell whistled Sinatra's 'Three Coins in a Fountain' as he swept. He thought about the wedding taking place inside. She'd been very pretty, the bride, with all that red hair. Her frock would've been nice too if it were a proper length: imagine, a bride going to her wedding in a dress above her knees! It wasn't decent. Too much of that black make-up on her eyes, too. Bramwell thought her eyelashes looked long enough to fly away all on their own. She _had_ smiled at him as her father whisked her inside the church, though. It struck him now that it had not been the smile of a blushing bride. There had been altogether too much mischief and sparkle. Bramwell chuckled. He might not understand their fashions, but he did understand _that_ look. If he'd had married, it would've been to a girl who smiled like that. 

He frowned. He could hear footsteps on the other side of the door. The ceremony could not possibly be over yet. He hadn't heard the organ! Bramwell stepped back just in time. The wooden doors were flung open and then, finally, the organ began playing. Bramwell looked on in astonishment as the young bride, her hand holding fast to a suited man, burst out of the church. Her veil streamed behind her as they ran. Laughing! The stopped at the gate.

"That way!" She cried, pointing.

The pair ran and disappeared from sight. Bramwell leaned on his broom, bemused. He barked out a quick laugh as the pair suddenly came into view again, running in the opposite direction. 

" _Karen!"_ Her father, along with a mass of other guests, began to pour out of the church. " _KAREN!_ "

"Sorry, Dad!" The bride shouted over her shoulder.

"Sorry Mr. Gillan!" The young man cried. Bramwell wasn't sure if he was the groom, or one of the groomsmen. 

Bramwell wandered to the gate and looked over the flowers. He peered down the road. He saw the couple stop. The bride's shoes appeared to be giving her some difficulty; she held on to the man's arm while she tugged them off. They were both staggering. Bramwell realised they were both laughing so hard they could barely stand. 

"Go, go!" He heard the man shout as guests spilled out on to the road.

The father was shouting again, something about it not being _decent_ , not being _respectful._ They were all accusations that Bramwell might've nodded along with any other time, but he could not stop chuckling! There was something so fresh and _joyful_ about the pair. He couldn't remember the last time he saw two people looking so happy. It filled his heart with joy. The girl, he realised, had intended this before she walked into the church. He'd seen it in her smile.

Bramwell, along with the other guests, watched the couple get on to a red double-decker bus far down the road. There was a long pause before the bus did anything. Perhaps they hadn't any money? And then the bus took off, rolling up the road. It was going to pass the church. He looked up when he saw them hanging out a window right at the top.

"Bye!!" They called out. The bride threw her bouquet out of the window and into the crowd.  Bramwell didn't look to see who caught it. His gaze was on the couple. He saw them kiss just before the bus took them from view. It was a kiss that could only be described as indecent in public. Bramwell shook his head, still laughing. 

You didn't see that every day!

Bramwell wondered who they were. He wondered where they'd come from and what journey they'd undertaken to bring them to this point. He was willing to bet it was one hell of a story ... but it was one he'd never know. 

"You be happy now," he whispered after them, giving the bus a firm little nod. "Whoever you are."


	2. A Green Royal

**June, 1964**

 

"I look like a housewife," she complained, pulling the dress away from her body with her thumb and forefingers. "I look _thirty._ "

"It's very mature. It's very becoming."

"Don't like 'mature'." Karen frowned at her full-length reflection. The offensive dress was charcoal with a wide, scooping cream collar and a little black tie. She reached down and began folding up the hem, gathering the fabric over her knees. "Don't like ... want to look ..."

"Karen," Jenna looked up from a copy of _Sixteen_. "I've got to get back to work soon."

"Don't want to look like an old lady," Karen continued. She tried to make the fabric stay put to see what the dress would look like taken up; but it kept falling down. She groaned and gave up on it. She turned, tugging down the zip. "I have to find the right balance. I want to look ... competent. Sexy. Not too sexy. I want them to take me ... seriously ..."

"Nobody takes receptionists seriously," Jenna said. She stood up and came to the mirror, brushing her hands over her high, teased hair. "Not unless you're forty-five and matronly. If you want to be in a job, then you've got to sell the assets you have."

Karen rolled her eyes and disappeared into the changing room. She stepped out of the dress and passed it to Jenna. "Put that back, ta. By 'assets', I hope you mean my lovely typing skills?"

"I mean _that_ ," Jenna said, looking her body up and down. She took the dress with a sigh, and started fixing the state of it. Karen had given it to her inside-out and unzipped. "You could be fingerless and still get a job as a typist if you wear the right skirt."

"That isn't true," Karen didn't bother closing the door. She started looking through the other dresses she had collected, the hangers clacking against one another. "I worked hard on that typing course. They wouldn't have them if you didn't need them."

Jenna pointed. "Try - try the navy one."

"Don't want to wear navy," Karen grumped. "Don't want to wear _charcoal._ "

"Navy one's got such a nice neckline through," her friend stressed, pulling the dress toward herself. She held it up against her own body, swaying temptingly from side to side. "See?"

Karen sighed. "It's boring. It's more your style, anyway."

Jenna lowered the dress with a scowl. "Oh thank you very much."

"That's not what I meant! Ugh!" Karen threw her hands up into the air. She pushed the dresses into Jenna's arms, heedless that they were already occupied with the rejected navy and charcoal ones. "Let's just get something by Ossie. The most boring Ossie dress we can find, and then it doesn't matter how boring it is, because I'll know it's still Ossie Clark."

Jenna passed the dresses on to an unimpressed-looking shop assistant. "Or ... you could wear something from home?"

"Out of the question."

"Have you told them yet?"

"No!" Karen answered, working her own green and white checkered dress up her arms. "I will. I will! Once I have something, I will."

"They're not going to like it," Jenna warned in a sing-song, walking backward until her calves hit the sofa in front of the changing room stalls. "The longer you wait the worse it's going to get. He'll make you give it up, you know." She plopped down and picked up the magazine again. 

"Do you know what today is?" Karen stepped out and tugged her dress into place. "Today is the last day I buy anything with his money. That's what today is."

"Is that because you're going to tell him and he's going to take away your allowance?" Jenna paused, her mouth falling open as the revelation struck her. "Is that why you won't tell him until you've got a job? Because you know he'll take your allowance away. It is, isn't it! Karen, you're too much."

"It's good business. Business acumen," she said, tapping the side of her head. 

Jenna shook her head, leafing through the pages. "I wouldn't work if I didn't have to."

"I want my own things," Karen muttered for what felt like the hundredth time. She didn't get how it was so difficult for her friends to understand. 

At twenty years (and eight months) Karen Gillan still lived with her parents. They occupied a very comfortable home in St John's Wood that was surrounded by high, green box hedges. It was not accurate to say the Gillans were rich, but they enjoyed a comfortable wealth which ensured they never went without. Her father was a dentist - a very skilled, highly sought-after dental surgeon, who specialised in expensive reconstructive work. Her mother had no reason to work and the same was rather expected of their only daughter. It was not that her parents did not hope for her to have aspirations; only that they dreamed these would be of becoming a homemaker and mother, and that she might lead a quiet, secure life. The social upheavals creeping around the edges of sixties Britain rather worried the Gillans, and desperately excited their daughter, who had no intention of becoming either homemaker or mother. At least not until she was _old._ You know. Twenty-seven or something.

"I can't do what I want with his money. As long as I take his money, it's his rules what I do with it. If I make my own, then I'm independent, Jenna. Maybe I can even move out. Without marrying somebody as my ticket out the door."

Jenna put the magazine aside. "Independence is a bit overrated, Karen. You've seen my place. Is that what you want?"

It was easy to forget that Jenna's living conditions were not ideal. She lived in a two bedroom affair with three other girls ... Karen saw the parties and fun, it was a simple thing to forget the lack of privacy, the cattiness, the damp on the walls. It was a very far cry from her own warm, private bedroom, which was probably bigger than both bedrooms in Jenna's flat combined.

"You have your own life and your own rules, and you don't have to tell anyone when you'll be home. I don't understand why you're always on my back about it," Karen protested, beckoning to the brunette. They gathered their bags and headed out on to Carnaby Street. "Would it be better if I just let people spoon feed me my whole life?"

Jenna shook her head. "No. I'm sorry - don't mean to make you feel like I'm at you about it. I just don't want you falling out with your Mum and Dad, you know. Especially if it's not something you've thought through."

"Believe me, I've thought it through," Karen assured her. 

What she didn't say was that her lust for independence had been greatly influenced by a song by an American folk singer released earlier in the year: _The Times They Are a-Changin'._ She had listened to that record enough to know it by heart: every laboured line and harmonica note. She was embarrassed to admit that she had been swayed by something so trivial as a _song_ ... it seemed awfully teenage of her. Yet she was often held in thrall by songs. The right songs, which moved and inspired her. There was something magical about the right combination of music and lyric. This particular one she listened to on the lowest volume late at night, blankets pulled up over her head, watching the record spin or reading the album cover over and again. Financial independence her parents might not approve of; they _definitely_ did not approve her changing tastes in music. It was a little difficult to go back to the bubblegum of _My Boy Lollipop_ after discovering Bob Dylan.

"So you'll find a job, then tell Daddy that you're a working girl now."

"Pretty much. You know he might not be so angry? He'll be cross I didn't say ... they thought the money for those typing classes was for extra piano lessons ... but he might even be a little proud, you know. Just as long as long as he doesn't think I'm taking it too seriously."

"And are you?"

"What?"

"Taking it seriously."

Karen burst into laughter. "Oh yeah, yeah. Seriously!"

"Ohhh," Jenna rolled her eyes and looked into a shop window. "You're in for a rude shock."

They walked to Jenna's work. She was five minutes late from her lunch break and quick to blame Karen as she put on her apron over her yellow uniform. Jenna worked in a cafe on Broadwick Street, which intersected Carnaby. It was called the Twelve O'Clock. It looked like a tiny place from the outside, but it was actually made up of several little rooms all squashed together at odd angles. Most of the tables and chairs were mismatched, which gave them a strange uniformity. The walls were painted brightly and decorated by prints of local artists, all for sale, and none of them very good. Karen had been coming here for two years and she'd only seen one sold.  The owner  was beatnik and had recently gotten into a love affair with Motown. It was all he would play, though when he stepped out Jenna was quick to put on something else.

"Karen made me go shopping with her again. I'm sorry, Mr. Capaldi."

Jenna's boss looked up from the newspaper he was reading behind the counter. "Again? Is there anything in the shops you haven't bought yet, Karen?"

It was familiar banter. Karen sat down in her favourite seat by the window, dropping her handbag into the chair beside her. She grinned over at him. "I saw something perfect for your daughter."

Mr. Capaldi held up his hand. "Not interested," he said in his thick Scottish brogue. 

"It was cut ... to here." She held up her hand against her leg, an inch or two above her knee. "And it was made of plastic - like a raincoat!"

He leaned across the counter, propping himself up on his elbows. "And I suppose you want a cup of tea."

"And -"

"A raspberry ripple cake."

She sat up a little straighter and grinned at him. A familiar game. An assortment of little cakes were delivered to the cafe every morning. The arrangement he had with the baker in East London was to take whatever he had in surplus for a discounted price. The cakes were always delicious, the flavours unpredictable. Karen could never select which one she wanted, so Mr. Capaldi would choose for her. He'd never picked one she didn't like.

"I'll take care of this, Jenna. There's a group on table nine. See if they're okay."

"Right," she winked and gave Karen a little wave, disappearing into one of the squashy back rooms.

Mr. Capaldi started on the tea. Karen watched him lift the heavy glass cake dome and remove a small, round cake with glossy red icing. "Jenna told me you're serious about getting work."

"I am. She thinks I'm mad. She says she wouldn't work if she didn't have to."

"I don't think _anyone_ would work if they didn't have to."

"What about people who really like what they do? Like actresses and musicians?"

Mr. Capaldi smiled, pulling a blue teacup and saucer from the shelving overhead. "Well, they do. You have me there. But ... most people, no, they'd rather not work."

"Is it so bad that I want a little independence? A bit of responsibility?"

"No. I think it's admirable, really. I'd offer you a job here if I had a place for you - "

"Oh Mr. Capaldi, thanks!"

"- and if I thought you'd be any good at it, but I think you'd be hopeless and I mean that in the nicest way."

There was no arguing with that. "I would be hopeless."

She liked the idea of working in an office, with a neat little desk and typewriter, and trays marked 'in' and 'out.' She had seen how flummoxed Jenna became when the cafe got very busy. She didn't want to make tea and serve sandwiches. It amazed her how Jenna could remember orders and figures - she knew she'd only mix them up. She had the luxury of being picky and was only too willing to indulge it. Karen believed she had the poise and personality better suited to an office environment. 

Mr. Capaldi set down a tea and cake before her. Then, to Karen's surprise, he sat opposite. They had become very friendly during all her visits to Jenna, but he never sat down to talk while the cafe was still open.

"Have you started looking, or are you just choosing dresses?"

Karen frowned. "You don't think I'm serious, either."

"Well, Karen ... you do talk about doing a lot of different things, and they don't eventuate. There was that time you were going to learn to make Opera Cakes in Paris, the time you said you were going to learn ballet - "

Karen held up her finger. "I took lessons for that."

"You went twice."

"Does Jenna tell you _everything_?"

"My point is," Mr. Capaldi went on, far more gently than before, "that you have lots of fine ideas, Karen, but you don't see anything through. Forgive me for being skeptical. This is not like a class or a hobby. If you take a job, people are depending on you. It's a lot of responsibility. You can't wake up and decide you don't want to go."

She realised he was giving her the talk her Dad should have been; the one he couldn't provide since she was keeping it all from him. Mr. Capaldi had always been sort of a cool Uncle figure, with his black jumpers and drainpipe trousers, and his Motown records. She felt a wave of fresh affection toward him.

"I know," she promised him. "I wouldn't do that. This is something I really _want._ I want to put myself out there. I want to be independent. I don't want ... please don't tell anyone I said this ... I don't want to be like my mother. That sounds so mean. I don't pity her or anything - she's happy, you know. But she does everything Dad says. I want more independence than that. I want to know what I'm made of."

"There's nothing wrong with not wanting to be like your parents," Mr. Capaldi said. He picked up Karen's teacup and took a big slurp. "Know where my parents are? Still in Glasgow. Where I left them. Dad sold insurance until he retired and Mum ... well, she was like yours. Raising bairns and and asking for money when she needed things. They've never liked what I've done. Don't think they've ever been proud of me, and I couldn't care less because -" 

He paused suddenly, perhaps realising how he had derailed the conversation. It was probably not the speech he should have been giving her. " _Basically_ , what I'm saying is ...find your own way and you'll be fine. I make a nice cup of tea, don't I."

"Yes, you do," Karen smiled, amused.

"I'll get you another."

The next week was demoralising. 

Each morning she had breakfast with her mother and father, smearing marmalade on to her toast and sipping tea. She waited patiently until her father finished with the morning paper and then smuggled it up to her bedroom. She spread out the pages carefully on her dressing table, knocking aside mascara and jars of cold cream. With a red pen she circled potential job opportunities, carefully removed the pages when necessary, and folded it into her purse.

The first week of deception and adventure was largely unsuccessful. She wore her most responsible and plainest-looking clothes, hoping that interviews would sell her skills. Most of the time she never even made it out of the waiting room. It didn't take her long to realise it was just the pretty girls getting called in to get interviewed.

She ended each day at The Twelve O'Clock, bemoaning her total lack of success to Jenna (if she was working) or Billie, but most of the time it was Mr. Capaldi who listened to her woes. Or pretended to; Karen tended to keep talking whether he was able to pay attention or not. His advice was always the same and it started to annoy her. Keep at it. It's early days yet. Persevere, Karen.

By the end of the week she reinterpreted 'perseverance' as a of change of tactics. Boring and responsible wasn't getting her a look-in. Time to play the game. 

Karen started fresh on Monday morning. She stepped out in high heeled shoes that increased her height by a few more inches and a lime-green dress that said 'runway' more than 'receptionist'. If this was what it took to get noticed, then she was going to get noticed! She pressed long, thick false eyelashes in place and curled the tips of her hair. She patted the soft, red curls and leaned forward, inspecting her face up close. If only her eyes were lighter ... if only she had fewer freckles ... Karen stuck her tongue out at her reflection and doubled the amount of kohl underneath her eye.

Her feet immediately hurt once she hit the inner London streets. Her shoes were beautiful and cruel creations. They pinched her toes together and dug into her heels. She bore it bravely, now remembering why she hadn't worn them in so many months. Karen paused on a street corner to rest and pulled the carefully folded newspaper page from her purse. She checked the address, double-checked the time.

The architectural agency Baker, Baker and Davison occupied the third and fourth levels of the building opposite. She had never heard of them before, and had never been in this part of Islington. No matter! Karen gave the paper a little kiss and put it away for safekeeping. They wanted a new secretary. She was going to be that secretary.

Though she had only one week of job hunting under her belt, she was well prepared for the scene she found in reception. It was a well-lit space had chairs lining the walls, the odd pot plant dotted amongst them. There were photographs on the walls of buildings the firm had designed. Karen gave her name and resume to the lady at the desk and sat amongst the other hopefuls. She crossed one long leg over the other, rolled her shoulders back, and pretended to be fascinated by the droopy plant next to her.

Her other opportunities had consisted of waiting for up to an hour before being dismissed without a word of explanation. This time, she was not kept waiting more than five minutes. An older, bearded man with a receding hairline led her into a small, windowless office. Lack of personality in the room told her this wasn't anybody's permanent office.  It was dominated by a plain desk with a green Royal typewriter set in the middle. On one side was a stack of plain paper. On the other was a page of handwritten scrawl. The man waved her to the chair in front of it, and watched her as she sat. She smiled brightly.

"Hello, Miss Gillan. Thank you for coming today ... my name is Roger Delgado, and I will be conducting the interview this morning. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you!" She answered with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "I'm very well. It's a beautiful day out there. How are you?"

"Oh well, thank you," he chuckled, looking down at the page before him. "I understand you've recently undertaken a typing class at Pitman Training? How did you find that?"

What sort of question was that? "I found it very well."

"I notice you've not any prior work experience recorded here."

"I'm hoping this will change that," she offered with a fresh little smile. 

He waved a hand at the typewriter. "Would you mind demonstrating your skill for me, please."

Karen nodded, feeling a little bolt of nerves shoot through her. She peeled off a leaf of paper and fed it into the typewriter. She cranked it into place and pushed the carriage back. Her fingers hovered over the keys and she turned her attention to the sheet of text, straightening her back. Karen glanced up.

"Mr Delgado?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Do you really write this untidily?" Karen looked up with a cheeky grin. It might be pushing it, but he looked like the sort who wanted a girl with a bit of spirit.

She was rewarded with a laugh. "That's Mr. Baker's handwriting. He is in need of the secretary."

"I see." She took a breath and almost began typing. "Mr. Delgado? Is he the _first_ Mr. Baker in the company name ... or the second?"

He smiled indulgently. "The second. Please." He gestured to the typewriter.

Karen began. She wasn't the fastest typer and she knew that, so she planned to make up for it with accuracy. The keys clacked. The machine dinged and clunked as she pushed the carriage back when necessary. She glanced at it now and again, pulling her gaze away from Mr. Baker's unfortunate handwriting only when she absolutely had to. When she was finished, she pulled out the sheet and shook it out to make sure the ink had dried. Karen passed it to the man opposite.

He turned over the paper filled with Mr. Baker's writing. Karen suppressed a laugh when she realised there was a cheat-sheet on the other side. The entire letter was neatly transcribed in clear print. He compared it to the letter Karen had typed.

"This is very good. Are you available for immediate start, should you be successful in your application?"

She nodded quickly. "I could start yesterday."

That almost went over his head. Then he laughed and rose. Karen followed suit and shook his proffered hand. "We'll be in touch."

Karen left Baker, Baker and Davison feeling extremely good about herself. She had two other possible appointments to attend, but one of them was all the way over the other side of town and she decided her feet just hurt too much to bother. She went to the one in Southwark instead, but by the time she arrived they informed her the position had already been filled. 

She hurried home. There was every chance that she might hear from Mr. Delgado - she had a good feeling about the interview. The other two she'd gotten the week before hadn't even allowed her to demonstrate her typing ability! Plus, she and Mr. Delgado had gotten a good little rapport going ... though, he wouldn't be her boss, it would be about whether she was a good fit for the second Mr. Baker.

Why were there _two_ Mr. Bakers? That was going to confuse her. 

Karen spent the afternoon softly playing records, in case the phone rang and she didn't hear it. Which would be impossible, since she was practically sitting on it. She spread the financial section of the newspaper out on to the floor and painted her toenails red. She rearranged all her father's books alphabetically, realised he wouldn't like that however good her intentions, and tried to put them back the way they were. It was a good exercise in memory, she thought. Then she dusted and varnished the furniture until the fumes made her feel sick ... and that was when the phone rang. 

She got it on the second ring and put on her most professional voice. "Gillan residence," she said where she usually would've said 'hello!'

"This is Mr. Roger Delgado, calling from Baker, Baker and Davison. May I speak to Miss Gillan, please."

"This is Miss Gillan," Karen said quickly, pulling her fingers into a fist so tight that her nails cut into her palm.

His voice changed over the line, becoming warmer, less businesslike. "Hello Miss Gillan! I trust you enjoyed the rest of that beautiful day."

"Yes, I did, thanks," she replied, wondering why on Earth he wouldn't just _get on with it!_

"Lovely. I've good news. Your interview was very impressive this morning. Would you be able to begin on Wednesday?"

"Yes!" This time, she was unable to contain her excitement.

Mr. Delgado continued with a smoothness that assured her he had not expected any other answer. "Lovely. Bonnie - that's Mr. Baker's current secretary - finishes on Friday, so if you could begin Wednesday that would give her three full days to train you up. Does that sound all right to you? Good! So it's eight o'clock Wednesday then. Yes? Charming. See you then!"

"Yes, Wednesday, thank you!" Karen managed to say before the line went dead. 

She had a moment of quiet reflection before she started screaming, running around in circles with her hands over her head. Laughing, she fumbled with the record player until she got her _Twist and Shout_ LP turning. She danced energetically on the sofa, mashing up the cushions with her feet. She leapt off just before her mother came into the living room.

Her mother glanced at Karen, the sofa, and the record player. She turned it down. "Karen, were you dancing on the sofa again?"

She put her hands behind her back and shook her head, wide-eyed. "No, of course not!"

Her mother eyed her and then turned to go. Karen surged forward. "Mum - wait. There's something I have to tell you...!"

Perhaps if she got her mother on side first, it would be less horrific telling her father later on....


	3. Embassy

He would regret everything in the morning, come good after lunch and bounce back for another session in the evening. 

Two men got off the tube at Oxford Circus and headed along the street. They were each in slim trousers, light shirts and jackets, their hair growing longer than what would have been considered decent a few months ago. The younger of the two, Matt Smith, had already been told to cut it twice by his boss, Mr. Baker ... and was yet to indulge that request. Who cared what length his hair was - it didn't affect his ability to draw lines.

They entered the 100 Club, passing beneath its inviting red canopy and going down a set of stairs to the basement. It was as familiar to them as their own houses. They paid entry - there was a live band playing that night - and handed their jackets to the coatcheck girl. She took Matt's a little too roughly and hung it up less neatly than his friend's.

"What was that about?" David asked as they walked deeper into the club. He had to lean close to Matt to be heard over the band.

Matt grimaced as they reached the bar, shouldering their way into a tiny gap to get noticed. "She's sore at me."

"Oh I remember her now," David lit up. He turned and pointed back toward the entrance. "I remember her now! When was it, a month ago, two?"

"Two, probably," Matt muttered, raising his hand for attention from the bartender.

"She came along to the Marquee with us, didn't she? After she knocked off work? And," he raised his eyebrows at Matt, "you shagged her."

"One of those things."

"She was quite tidy, you said."

"Yeah not bad, not bad."

"And then you didn't call her," David continued, clearly enjoying this. "And we came back here the following weekend and she asked you _why_ you didn't call her, and you said you'd lost her number."

Matt leaned marginally forward as the bartender came down his end. "Two scotches and cokes, ta."

He wasn't embarrassed about his history with the cloakroom girl. (Whose name, he was pretty certain, was either Suzanne or Rachel: it didn't occur to him to be bothered that those two names sounded nothing alike.) It was one of those things, just as he said. What _did_ bother him was the relish with which David retold the story. David didn't give a shit about notches or prowess; in fact he basically _disapproved_ of the more promiscuous qualities Matt possessed, and a retelling was a scolding.

David continued. "So I suppose that'd be a good enough reason to be a bit cross with you ... and then there's the fact that you pulled her _again_ that evening ..."

"I didn't take her home!"

"No, you _wouldn't_ take her home, and now she probably thinks she did something wrong and feels ugly and undesirable and has a complex which she entirely, and fairly, blames you for."

"I didn't promise her anything," Matt argued in a dull voice, turning toward the stage. "That's the Yardbirds, isn't it?"

David gave him a very significant look and looked over at the stage. "Think so ... that's their new guitarist. Clapper or something."

"Clapton."

"I think it's Clapper."

Matt paid for the first round of drinks and passed one to David. The ice clinked against the confines of the glass as they passed amongst the other club goers. There was nowhere to sit, so they commandeered a place a few steps from the wall. They stood watching the Yardbirds play.

He put his glass down on a tall, round table within arm's length and reached into his top pocket. Matt opened a package of Embassy cigarettes. He offered it to David, who nodded and drew one out, and then took one for himself with his lips. The packet was put away and a book of matches taken out. He lit David's first, the smell of sulphur rising and fading as the match burned. Matt lit the end of his own, breathing smoke deeply into his lungs. He shook the match out and picked up his glass.

Matt squinted as smoke drifted into his eyes. "So how's work?"

"You know. Busy."

David worked in Savile Row, deep in fashionable Mayfair. The street was full of tailoring boutiques (it was famous for it) and David made his living as a tailor for Hardy Amies. Matt often liked to joke that he would be able to afford a bespoke Hardy Amies suit ... in about ten years.

"Still getting off measuring the inner thighs of the well-to-do?"

"Oh, shut it. Keeping busy, are you? They letting you design any real buildings yet?"

Matt shot him an unfavourable look. He worked for an architectural firm, but he was something of a junior architect ... very junior, and to his eternal chagrin he was given simple jobs that were utterly vacant of creative potential. And when he didn't have the joy of designing another block of flats identical to the last one he'd done, he was doing checks on somebody else's boring work. He was frustrated, but diligent, believing that if he kept at it long enough Mr. Baker was bound to notice and move him up to the privileged fourth floor. Baker, Baker and Davison occupied the third and fourth floors of the building, and it was an acknowledged fact that _nobody_ wanted to be stuck on the third.

He took an irritated drag from his smoke. "Not yet."

"That'll change, mate," David said encouragingly, flicking ash on to the floor. "You're still so bloody young. They're not like to look twice at you until you're thirty-odd."

"Know this from experience?"

"Well ... _yeah._ " They had me answering phones and taking orders for years. I'd studied, I could cut anything, but it was like a test of staying power or character ... you do the time. Before you know it you'll be getting more responsibility than you actually want."

"I'd settle for just a bit more money."

"Well, they'll never give you more than you could want of that."

They watched the remainder of the Yardbirds' set and then half of the group who followed. More drinks followed, but the atmosphere began to grow thin. They had spent enough time with one another to be able to communicate with a single look - they agreed to leave. Drinks were polished off and they climbed the stairs, heading for The Plug Hole. Nights often ended for the pair of them at that particular club: it was central, and its unpredictability in music meant they never knew quite what they were in for. 

Neither Matt nor David pulled that night. They found a table and smoked and drank; mainly talking about great nights they'd had years before, arguing over the tiniest of details. They parted close to ten-thirty. As soon as Matt stepped out into the fresh, night air he realised he was a good deal drunker than he'd given himself credit for. That wasn't ideal on a Thursday night, when he was expected at his desk by eight-thirty sharp the following morning. He decided to leg it for a few streets in hopes of sobering himself up.

He was fortunate to live centrally. He occupied a nice bedsit on Uxbridge Road, Shepherd's Bush. The house was owned by an elderly widow. She leased the three upstairs bedrooms as a way of making ends meet. The longest resident was the man who leased the rear bedroom; a dotty gentleman who never went anywhere without his umbrella, rain or shine. Matt didn't see much of Mr. McCoy, who kept to himself and came and went at odd hours. The smallest room belonged to the most recent resident, a young man around Matt's age named Noel. On the few times they'd managed to link up for drinks they'd gotten along very well. 

It made for a very pleasant household in which to live, especially since the widow had developed a grandmotherly attachment to Matt. She often cooked extra so she could feed him, too. It was not uncommon for Matt to come home and find a plate of sandwiches waiting for him on the low table beside his armchair, covered in plastic wrap. Sometimes she added a thermos of thin soup, or a tin of buttery biscuits. Matt repaid her not only with the rent, but by doing any handyman jobs around the house that he could manage. 

Now and again he was homesick for Northampton, where his family lived. That would come late at night, when he was alone and the city had gone quiet. Perhaps Mrs. Shaw had sensed that and took steps to look after him ... or perhaps she was lonely, too. She didn't often speak of her husband, but Matt knew that he and both her sons had perished during the war.

He walked ten minutes before remembering that it would take him the better part of an hour to get home if he walked the whole way. He paused, swaying gently in the street, squinting at his surrounds. Right, he knew where he was. And he knew where he could hail a taxi from. Matt doubled back the way he'd come and then waited at the rank until a taxi arrived. He threw himself into the backseat and grumbled directions at the driver. 

Matt thought about Suzanne or Rachel. Yeah. It'd been kind of shitty of him to not phone her like that, but then again she'd made an awful lot of assumptions. What happened to just going out and having a laugh? Birds expected so much. They liked to talk about all the independence they wanted, but then they wanted doors opened and meals paid for. If a bloke didn't dish out, she would start at him about being unchivalrous. _Where have all the gentlemen gone,_ they'd moan to their friends. But god help you if you told them they couldn't have it both ways! They wanted equality, and that was fine, but that meant you had to get off your bloody pedestal! 

They were difficult, and they dared wonder why he couldn't be bothered committing to any one of them. He was far too young for that kind of life sentence.

"Mate. Mate!"

He jerked awake. Apparently, he had nodded off in the back of the taxi. Matt grumbled and leaned forward, paying the driver. He staggered out, slamming the door far too hard. Matt plodded up the front steps and fumbled for his keys. He spent an inordinate amount of time holding the individual keys up to the street light and staring hard at them, trying to figure out which one was going to open the front door. 

The one that he thought would do the trick wouldn't turn the lock. He had jammed it in there pretty good and it took a few awkward, curse-worthy seconds to yank it free. The second key he tried turned it easily and he practically fell inside.

A curious thing happened to Matt when he went through the front door. It happened every time he came home drunk. It was like an automatic signal was transmitted from legs to brain which said, 'fuck this, we're done.' From then on, it was a game of dramatic staggering as he attempted to propel his body up the stairs. This unfolded with varying degrees of success. Sometimes he went backwards more often than forward. He could proudly claim never to have fallen down the steps, though once he teetered on the very top and fell on his ass. 

He made it up unbruised. He released the bannister and grinned sloppily at his success. Mr. McCoy came out of the bathroom as he headed toward it. He was wearing a thin, worn dressing gown and a felt hat.

"Hello, son!" He chuckled as the passed. "Good night, was it?"

Matt gave an exaggerated nod. "Smashing."

"Yes! Ha!" He squeezed Matt's shoulder. "Try not to leave any sick in the bowl, there's a good lad!"

He didn't remember anything else after that, but the following morning he woke with a splitting headache and a mouth that felt like cotton wool.

 

 

Matt made it to work on time. He didn't feel so poorly after a cooked breakfast in the cafe around the corner from his bedsit, which he washed down with two cups of strong tea. He had another of those as soon as he arrived at work. 

His desk was a stone's throw from the window on the third floor. It was built into a four-way hutch that accommodated three other junior architects. If he leaned back he could see out of the window, but as the building looked on to the one beside it, there was never anything to see. The floor was basically open plan except for a row of offices at either end, and the tea-room built against one wall. For an agency that was in equal parts mathematical and creative, it was incredibly dull, with its brown, grey and cream colour schemes. The nice potted plants were saved for the fourth floor. 

He took off his jacket and hung it on the peg. Matt unlocked his desk drawer and pulled out the designs he'd been working on the previous day. He yawned, frowned at them, refreshing his memory. Where had he been up to? He rolled up his shirt sleeves.

Matt immersed himself in his work. His job and the politics of waiting for his skills to be properly acknowledged did not affect the quality of what he did: and it was made easier by the fact that everyone he worked with was so bloody boring. There was little distraction from what he was paid to do.

He realised all his pencils were blunt close to lunch time. He leaned over to the nearest desk where Sam Vincent was doing checks. 

"Hey. Sam." He held up a handful of blunt pencils. "Got any sharpies?"

"Sorry, no," Sam answered, giving him a very brief look before returning to his work. 

Matt sighed. That meant a trip up to the stationery room on the fourth floor. It was one of the few reasons he had for going up there. He stood, stretching. He heard the muscles clicking in his shoulders, grateful for the relief. 

A set of stairs in the centre of the space connected the two floors internally. Matt made his way amongst silent, busy desks and ascended to the next floor. It was nicer up there. Rather than dull paint there was a bit of variety in wallpaper, and this floor was comprised of far more offices. He passed a desk outside one of them, hesitated, and went back for a better look at the redhead sitting there.

"Bonnie! It's your last day, isn't it?" 

She smoothed her beehive, patting down heavily lacquered hair. She smiled brightly at him. "Yes! It is! Only six hours left!"

"Ah. We'll miss you," he told her. Given their separate floors he didn't cross paths with Bonnie very often, but it was always good when they did. She was perky and friendly. They usually found something to laugh about. 

"Aw, cheers you," she winked at him. "We're having a bit of cake up here at five, in the tea-room. You should come along!"

"What kind of cake?"

"I don't know!" She laughed. "Girls are getting it for me. Where you off to, anyway?"

Matt held up his pencils.

"Ah. New girl's in the stationery room. Reorganising."

"That's just mean, Bonnie. Terrible welcome to the company!"

She shrugged helplessly. "Mr. Delgado gave her three full days training with me! I'd run out of things to show her by the end of the first. I had to give her something to do!"

Matt laughed. "Right. See you in a tick, then."

He continued along the passage, passing the secretarial desks for Mr. Davison and for his own boss, Mr. Baker. The door marked 'Supplies' was half shut. He opened it and the Swinging Blue Jeans' 'Hippy Hippy Shake' washed over him.

The narrow stationery room was lined with shelves. They were fitted with wooden boxes with labels detailing what was inside - or more accurately, what _should_ be inside. The secretaries all liked to claim the responsibility for maintaining it belonged each other. And as their bosses had them to fetch anything they required, nobody policed its upkeep. It was quite frustrating for everybody else. They inevitably spent far more time in there looking for what they needed than expected.

A triangular, two-sided ladder was erected in the middle of the room. The first thing he saw as he came in was a set of legs. A woman's legs, on the side of the ladder furtherest from him. Her heels were on the fifth step, giving him a spectacular view as he traced his eyes up the fantastic pair of pins. They disappeared beneath a bright purple dress with a stiff white collar and accents. By the time his eyes reached her face she was still yet to notice him. She was certainly pretty enough, filling that important secretarial prerequisite. Fair-skinned, ginger hair (perhaps that was also a prerequisite to work for Mr. Baker?) curled at the ends and brushing her shoulders. A small, portable radio was on the shelf by her head. 

She was humming along to the music and wiggling her hips in time to the beat. Then, she happened to glance down and see him looking up at her. She gasped and jumped so suddenly that Matt reached out to steady the ladder.

"You scared me! You ...." she clapped her hand over her mouth and took a calming breath behind it.

"Sorry," he grinned up at her. "Didn't mean to startle you."

The new girl took another deep breath and turned the radio down. She leaned over the top of the ladder to peer down at him. "You scared me."

"Not intentional! You're the new girl. Bonnie's replacement, right?"

She nodded.

"Matt Smith," he said offering up his hand to her. 

"Hello. Karen Gillan," she leaned down more to shake it, which made him hold the ladder a little tighter with her other hand. "Nice to meet you. What do you do?"

He released her hand and put it to the ladder. "Junior architect. I work downstairs."

"Oh right, right."

"Why did you climb the ladder in heels?" Matt asked, glancing at Karen's feet.

She looked down at them. "Well. Yes. Not terribly smart, was it. Sort of makes my feet hurt. Have to hang the heels off the end."

"Perhaps you could come down. You're making me nervous."

Karen gave him a kind of smile so dazzling that his heart did a little somersault. She descended the ladder carefully, looking through the rungs at him. "Better?"

"Much."

They smiled at one another and the conversation threatened to lapse into awkwardness. Matt cast his mind around for something to say. "So they've put you in the dungeon, then."

"Here?"

"Yeah. Everyone's always bickering about who has to tidy it."

"If anyone messes it up after I'm done they'll have me to answer to," she laughed and then looked at the ladder, realising it was blocking him from coming into the room properly. "Perhaps you should tell me what you want and I'll fetch it for you?"

Oh yes, right, he didn't need to make smalltalk: he was here for a reason. He held up the pencils. 

"I could sharpen them for you," she suggested, nodding to the machine. "Or if you're in a hurry, I could just fetch you some new ones. Only ... only I've not found the pencils, yet..."

"Sharpening's fine."

"I found t-squares," she said temptingly, as if selling them. She held one up and waved it. "Need a t-square?"

Matt chuckled. "Not today."

"I also found rulers." She pulled out a wooden ruler and tapped it underneath her chin. "In the market for a ruler? It rules things. The straightest lines this side of the channel."

"Just sharpening, thanks. You're good though. Maybe you should go into sales."

Karen held her hand out for the pencils. "Ha! And give up all this? Are you _mad?_ "

He passed her his fistful of pencils and watched as she laid them carefully on a shelf so as not to break the leads, and then inserted one into the sharpener bolted to the wood. She turned the crank. When she judged the pencil to be sharp, Karen pulled it out and raised it up. She blew on the end, scattering thin, curling wood peelings. Matt's gaze focused on her soft, puckered lips. 

Jesus, who knew sharpening a pencil could be so bloody erotic? 

Karen's hazel eyes shifted to Matt. She grinned. Well, he didn't see the point of concealing the fact that he'd been watching her. She started on the next pencil.

"Nice radio," he commented, pointing up.

"Ta," she said, turning the crank again. "I might get in a bit of trouble if they hear it, I know, but I need music. I'd go mad in here without it."

"Music fan?" He asked.

"God yes. Yes."

Matt watched her remove the second pencil, blow on the tip, and set it neatly beside the first. She picked up another. Matt said, "I saw the Yardbirds play last night."

"Oh, _did_ you?" She exclaimed with such yearning that she broke the pencil in half. Part of it came away in her hand, the other was stuck inside the machine. "I - oh. Bollocks."

"I'll do that," Matt said, pushing the ladder as far to one side as he could. The feet squeaked on the Lino. He squeezed between it and the shelves and took over from Karen in digging out the stuck pencil. "Wow, this is good and stuck," he added, with a laugh.

"Stupid machine. I'm an idiot."

"Yeah, possibly," he smirked, which earned him a light slap on the arm. "A mate and me were out at the 100 Club last night and we saw them play."

"Did they play _I Wish You Would_?"

"Yep."

"What about _Good Morning, School Girl_ , did they play that?"

"Yep." 

Karen collapsed against the shelf with a wistful sigh. "I would love to hear them live."

One little word she said gave her away as a proper music fan. Loads of birds liked to say they were music fans, when all they really loved were the Beatles. Karen had rattled off some song titles pretty quick, but it wasn't that which sold her to him. She said _hear_ them live. Not see them ... _hear_ them. For her, it was about the music.

Matt got the pencil fragment out of the machine. He passed it to Karen (who promptly chucked it in a little bin) and sharpened the fourth pencil himself. "You should come along sometime. They were good live."

"My Dad doesn't really like me going to clubs," Karen admitted glumly. 

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

"So what's the problem?"

"I live with him? It's just better to do what he says."

Matt passed her the pencil. "Here."

Karen looked at it, confused. "But this is your pencil."

"I can't blow on it nearly as well as you can."

She smiled in spite of herself, lowering her eyes as she took the pencil from his fingers. "You're a bit of a flirt, aren't you?"

"So are you."

"I wasn't doing anything," she protested, looking up with those big, innocent eyes.

"Uh huh," he answered, entirely unconvinced. Some girls didn't know the difference between being friendly and flirting ... _this_ one did, he was convinced of that. He waited.

Karen lifted the pencil and looked at him. She blew a delicate little puff of air on the tip. Wood peel floated away. She grinned and passed it back. 

"You should come out with us sometime," Matt urged her, sharpening the last pencil.

"Who is 'us'?" Karen playfully asked.

"Me and my mates."

"I don't know you and your mates."

"You would, if you came out with us."

"I'm a nice girl," she told him with a little nod.

"Are you sure about that?" He held up the last pencil.

"No, you."

With Karen's eyes on him he blew on the pencil. It took about two seconds for them to dissolve into laughter.

"Get out of here, go back to work!" She laughed, pointing at the door.

Matt grinned and squeezed past the ladder. "Must get boring!"

"What must get boring?"

"Doing what Daddy says."

Karen tried to frown at him, but it wasn't convincing either of them. "Maybe if I get to know you better I'll go out with you ... and your mates."

"Nah, not interested now," he teased, "nice girls aren't really my type."

"You're cheeky," she admonished, stepping up on to the first rung of the ladder. Matt started to leave. "Hey - wait!"

He looked back. "Yeah?"

"Your pencils."

Karen was pointing at the row of four and a half pencils on the shelf. He leaned over and gathered them up. "Ta."

"Now who's the idiot?"

Matt looked up at her and laughed. He gave her a mock salute and left her to her music and stationery. Well. That was unexpected. He had assumed the new secretary would be a pretty young girl ... but that one in there, jesus, she could be Jean Shrimpton with that hair and those legs. She was bloody gorgeous, that's what she was ... and she had a lot more sass than he would've thought Delgado would've hired.

He was going to need more excuses to come up to the fourth floor.

Starting with cake at five.


	4. Cake at Five

Mr. Gillan had not been impressed. 

Karen sullenly peeled potatoes in the kitchen, listening to him going over the same things in the drawing room. How many times had he said she'd no respect now? Ten? Twenty? Her mother had sent her to the kitchen to start dinner ... and she could _still_ hear him clearly. At first, Karen had paused to listen when her father stopped raving to hear her mother's softer, more even tones, trying to bring him around. Now her mother's intervention was as repetitious as her father's rage. Karen eased the small knife around the cold spud in her hand, dirt burrowing into the lines of her palm. She scraped the knife shallowly against the vegetable and made a game of it. She tried to get the peeling off in one long spiral, but it always broke.

Only a few hours ago she had informed her mother that not only had she lied to them both and spent the money they'd given her for extra piano lessons on typing classes, but that she'd also gone behind their backs and gotten a job. Her mother had been far more sympathetic than Karen had anticipated. Her strategy had been divide and conquer. Yet her mother remembered something very keenly that Karen had not given her credit for.

"I worked during the war years, love. I enjoyed it. But, well, that was all over when the men came home. I missed it for a long time."

"Do you still miss it, Mum?"

"No. Not anymore. But I've not forgotten how it felt. I'm not that old, Karen."

So she won her mother over, and had herself a stauncher ally against her father than she could've hoped for. However, her father's reaction was everything that she thought it would be.

At first, he said a lot of things like 'preposterous' and 'not responsible enough' and 'unnecessary'. Karen knew it would make it worse but she could not resist reminding him that she was twenty, and he really didn't have a say in what she did at all. Well. She had expected that to make him angrier, but she did not expect the full-blown fury she got. He started on about how she had lied about what she did with his hard-earned money, and that while she lived underneath his roof ... blah, blah, blah.

It was not long after that outburst that her mother hastened her into the kitchen in an attempt to bring Mr. Gillan around by herself.

Karen slowly washed the potatoes in a sink half full of water. It filled with cloudy starch and traces of dirt as she dragged the vegetables around in circles. Her father was a shouter, and once he got started there was little hope of him putting a sock in it until he ran out of steam. As a little girl, she had been terrified of making him angry. She had been a mischievous child, curious and careless - a combination that often saw to her being sent to her room, or given a smack with the wooden spoon. All her bravery shrank away when her father began to shout. He would have her leaking tears and trembling within the first minute of a good scolding. 

There came a day when she was fifteen that the power her father had over her waned. There was only so much shouting Mr. Gillan could do before she built up a natural immunity to it; and being such an outgoing, rebellious kid, it was amazing it had taken her so long. She remembered the incident with perfect clarity. She had been in the garden shed sorting jars of buttons her grandmother had given her. Karen divided them by colours and started on sizes. It had started to rain. She hadn't minded it and all and went on with her sorting. The ground had grown steadily muddier. When at last the rain stopped she walked through the garden and into the house, forgetting to remove her shoes, and tracked mud all through the kitchen, into the hallway, and up the stairs to her room. Her father had gotten stuck into her about it ... and she had not cried. She had not even felt the tears rising, nor the cold dread in her stomach. It just seemed so silly that he would lose his temper over mud. As she grew older, she realised that many of the things he had gotten angry with her over were about more than the incident at hand. That day, it had been about her carelessness, not mud. However, it took her many years to see the bigger picture ... sometimes, she still thought he got mad over nothing.

Karen cut up the potatoes and put them in a saucepan of water on the cooker. She found the peas and carrots, and when she looked up her mother was striding in.

"How did it go?" She asked.

Her mother shook her head. "Get your father a brandy."

"Is that a good idea? He'll probably think I spat in it."

"Karen!"

She wiped her hands on the towel and rolled her eyes. Karen left the kitchen and went into the drawing room. The curtains were closed and her father was sitting in his wing-backed chair, reading _The Times._ He was very red in the face and did not look up at her. She used the opportunity to pull a face at him before turning to the sideboard.

Karen lifted the heavy stopper in the glass decanter. Ugh, she hated the smell of brandy. She poured some into a round-bottomed brandy glass and carried it to her father. The bastard made her wait. When he took it he cupped the glass in his palm, warming the liquid inside, swirling it gently. She turned to go.

"Karen. I haven't decided whether you may accept the job yet."

"I already have," she told him, squaring her shoulders for a fight. "I'll pay you back every penny of the classes, if that's what you want."

"A little respect is all I want," he said mildly, finally pulling his paper down far enough to see her.

"Likewise."

Dinner that evening was a sorry affair. Her father stopped speaking to her altogether and that only made her crosser, whilst her poor mother attempted to diffuse any minor skirmishes before they could blow up again. Nothing was resolved over chops and potatoes. Nothing was resolved over apricot roly-poly. Everybody went to bed in poor spirits.

The reception for her success was far better at the Twelve O'Clock. Mr. Capaldi advised Karen not to provoke her father anymore, and to let him come around in his own time. She waved the advice away but secretly took it to heart. Mr. Capaldi's advice had never led her astray before.

The following evening, before Karen was due to begin at Baker, Baker and Davison, her father finally came round. He visited her in her bedroom as she laid out dresses, trying to decide which one to put on for her first day. It was strange, seeing her father in her room. Ever since she had stowed away her dolls he had gradually stopped coming in, as if he felt he no longer had a right to her space. Having him in there was peculiar, but nice.

"I spoke to a few chaps at work today," he said as overture, "it seems this place you've got yourself a job at is reputable enough."

Karen straightened a rejected frock on its hanger and put it in the wardrobe. "It is."

"I don't like that you lied to me. You understand that?"

"Yes."

"Why did you lie? Did you think I wouldn't allow you typing lessons?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose. I wanted to see if I could do it before I said anything."

"And you understand that this is very important, having a job? That you must go every day, and do everything they say?"

"Yes, I understand that," Karen replied, a little stiffly. She had already gotten this talk from Mr. Capaldi. "I'm sorry I lied."

Her father studied her for a moment and nodded. "Don't lie to us again," he said softly, and left her alone. Karen rolled her eyes. 

For all her bravado, she didn't sleep well that night. Nerves somersaulted in her stomach. She curled up into a ball and pressed her hands to her mouth. Maybe she would be terrible ... perhaps there had been a mistake, and Mr. Delgado had meant to phone a different girl ... she was nervous enough to hope that he had. She would arrive all dressed up and ready tomorrow and they would apologise profusely and send her home, and that would be that.

It didn't happen that way at all. She arrived at Baker, Baker and Davison at exactly twelve past eight in the morning. The girl at the reception desk accepted her arrival with a brisk little nod that suggested she had been expected. She made a telephone call, and a few moments later a woman in a smart polka-dotted dress and gigantic beehive came in. She had a shock of red hair, brighter than her own, and was perhaps ten years older than Karen. The woman had the most dazzling of smiles.

"Hello!" She exclaimed, squeezing Karen's hand. "I'm Bonnie Langford, Mr. Baker's current secretary - I'm going to train you up! Welcome to the company! You all right?"

"Yes," Karen replied, smiling weakly. "Just a bit nervous..."

"Oh fine, fine, you'll be fine. Deborah," she said, turning to the brunette at the reception desk, "send any telephone calls for Mr. Baker through to Sarah for the next ten minutes or so, I'm going to show Miss. Gillan around. _Karen_ ," she stressed, flashing her a smile. "So Karen. This is reception. Anyone who is coming to visit the company for any reason checks in here first. And this is Deborah Watling, our receptionist!"

Deborah smiled and swiveled her upper body as the phone beside her began to ring. Bonnie escorted Karen around the two floors of the building. As it was still early, most of the third floor was empty. Then only person she met was a pleasant-looking man who introduced himself as Samuel Vincent.

"Mr. Vincent's one of our junior architects," Bonnie said cheerfully, "they work very hard down here!"

"Hope to see more of you, Miss. Gillan. Enjoy your first day!" the young man said with deep sincerity that made her smile. 

They climbed the central stairs to return to the fourth floor. She was shown the tea-room and meeting rooms, and the desks for Accounts, Legal and Contracting. Then they followed a line of offices with desks set out in front. Each desk could not directly see the other as patterned screens were erected to provide privacy. A young woman was taking off her gloves at the first desk.

"Lulu, this is Karen - my replacement. This is Louise Jameson, the first Mr. Baker's secretary," Bonnie said, smiling. She added, quite earnestly, "Lulu knows all the ins and outs of the company, Karen, if you've ever any questions you should ask her!"

Bonnie didn't leave them much time to get to know one another. She whisked Karen to the next desk, which was empty. "This will be your desk!" She announced, delightedly. She lead her through to the big office beyond. It had a view of the street and was comfortably appointed with a leather desk chair and sofa. Oil paintings adorned the walls.

"Mr. Baker's office," Bonnie told her. She showed Karen where he kept things and what she needed to keep stocked up. "I like to get a big glass of carrot juice out for him every morning. His doctor said he needed to take better care of himself."

"Oh - I don't think I should do that, won't that be a bit cheeky, coming from me?"

"Oh no no no, no! You should! For his health!"

Karen coughed softly. "When does he usually come in to work?"

"Usually around nine," Bonnie nodded, beckoning for her to continue along the corridor. "He's quite good like that. Look there, that's the supplies room ... awful mess ... and here is Sarah Sutton, Mr Davison's secretary. Sarah, Karen, my replacement."

Those were the last names that Karen was able to remember that day. She met so many people. Bonnie kept whisking her away to meet this person or that person ... it seemed just as important to Bonnie that Karen fit in as it was that she learn the job. She thought she must've met everybody on the fourth floor by the end of the first day, but other than Deborah, Lulu, Sarah and Bonnie ... she was utterly incapable of recalling any other names.

Except Mr. Delgado, of course. He came to see them after lunch, and Karen pretended not to notice the very obvious silent conversation that passed between he and Bonnie. Bonnie was giving Karen her tick of approval, apparently.

Mr. Baker turned out to be terribly nice, to Karen's relief. He had a shocking mass of tightly corkscrewed blonde curls upon his head and a portly, comfortable shape. 

"Karen's going to keep on with the carrot juice for you!" Bonnie trilled.

"Please don't," Mr. Baker mouthed at her when Bonnie's back was turned. 

Karen learned how to answer the phone and transfer calls. She made a list of the people Bonnie said should always be put through, and another of the callers he never wanted to talk to directly. She showed her the appointment books and how to place orders for anything she needed, and where extra reams and ink could be found for the typewriter. It was a lot to remember but none of it seemed complicated. This was something she could do.

"I think you're going to be fine here," Bonnie told her with a big grin at the end of her first day, as she took their handbags from the locked bottom drawer. "You've got a nice personality and that."

"Have you been happy here?" Karen asked, taking her bag. "Ta."

"Oh yes, yes. Very! Lovely place to work, really."

"May I ask why you're leaving, then?"

"Oh goodness! Didn't I say?!" Bonnie burst forth into a loud peel of laughter that startled Karen. She placed on her shoulder to steady herself through the giggles. "I'm getting married, see! On the weekend! Don't need to work, now!" 

She waggled her finger so her engagement ring caught the light and grinned.

 

 

It was very obvious the next day that there was not much more Bonnie could teach Karen. She apologised and explained that it really wasn't a two-girl job, and that sometimes Mr. Baker had lots of letters and errands to attend to and other times ... not so much. Karen opened Mr. Baker's morning correspondence and poured him carrot juice beneath Bonnie's watchful gaze. Mr. Baker dictated a letter and Karen typed it up. Bonnie passed the time by drawing Karen detailed sketches of her dress, her bridesmaids' dresses, and the flower arrangements.

Karen slept very well the night following her second day of work. She woke on the Friday feeling satisfied and energised, ready for her last day of training. After today, she would officially be Mr. Baker's secretary. It was an exciting prospect. 

That excitement faded somewhat when Bonnie sent her to the supplies room to reorganise the stationery. Karen smuggled in her portable radio and looked glumly at the shelves towering overhead, crammed with lazily-stowed pens, staples, and erasers. 

"Pretend they're buttons," she muttered to herself, gingerly examining a dusty ladder. She unfolded it without discovering any spiders, dragged it into the middle of the room, and lost herself in boxes and chaos. There was something quite cathartic about putting a mess straight and with the music softly going overhead she began to enjoy herself. It was putting her stamp on the company, the first brushstroke that said: _Karen lives here!_

One of the junior architects came looking for pencils while she was sorting through a box of rubber bands. 

He was incredibly flirtatious and forward. The man - Matt - had a long, lean torso and a good pair of arms. His shirt-sleeves were rolled temptingly up. He possessed a set of features that, separately, Karen might not have found attractive. But on him, they were _very_ becoming. He had a strong jaw and forehead, over which rather long brown hair fell. When he smiled she thought she would melt into her nylons. It was the kind of smile that made a girl feel special, and think that it was for her, and her alone. The kind of smile that got girls into all sorts of trouble. Matt was, in short, the type of boy her mother had warned her about ... and the kind her father would never like.

So naturally, Karen was attracted so deeply to him that she refused his invitation to go out. She was young, proud and vain. He would ask again - he looked like he knew how these games were played. 

Karen ate her lunch in the supplies room. In the afternoon, she sat on the floor sorting paperclips into piles. Sarah stuck her head around the door.

"Oi! Karen!"

Karen looked up, bemused by Sarah's overly secretive behaviour. She kept glancing over her shoulder. "Yes...?"

"D'you think you could collect Bonnie's cake for us? We're doing a goodbye thing for her in the afternoon."

"Of course I can," Karen rose, dusting herself off. "Where do I need to go?"

Sarah was already passing her a card. "We've got sandwiches and things being delivered, but we need to pick the cake up ourselves from this address. It's all sorted on the company account, all you need to do is go in and say you're from us."

Karen turned the card around and smiled. "I know this place. My favourite cafe gets all their cakes from there."

"They're good, aren't they?" Sarah smiled, glancing furtively over her shoulder again. "We always get our cakes from them. Bosses' birthdays, going-aways. Do you think you could go now, is that all right? Bonnie's downstairs y'see, we want to make it a surprise."

Karen almost asked her how it could be a surprise if they always had cake for going away parties, but kept that to herself when she realised just how much Sarah was enjoying this cloak-and-dagger stuff. She followed her out to the desk to collect her bag. Sarah, amusingly, kept watch. She gave Karen bus fare and more instructions.

"And when you come back, tell Debbie at reception to phone me, and I'll keep Bonnie busy up here so you can get the cake into the tea-room, okay?"

"Okay," Karen promised, attempting to keep a straight face.

It was a nice errand to undertake on a June afternoon. The sun was dazzling overhead, so she put on her round sunglasses and saw the world through sepia tones. She took the bus out to the address on the card, enjoying the feeling of being part of the city in a way she never had been before. She paid _taxes_ now!

Everything stopped being fun when she collected the cake. It was in an enormous white box, rectangular, and very awkward to bear. It was not heavy, but the cake kept shifting inside if she did not keep her arms steady. She cursed Sarah with all the colourful words she knew while she waited for the bus to take her back to work. The wind kept blowing her hair into her mouth and she couldn't pull the strands away because holding the cake box necessitated both arms. The sun, so pleasant only minutes earlier, now beat cruelly down. She missed the supply room and her little piles of paperclips.

It was almost as difficult when she got the box on to the bus. She was able to find a seat, but she could not allow the cake to sit on her knees as the bus jolted on the road and she didn't want the icing to be spoiled. She was forced to hold it rigidly, prepared to steady it at any unknown bump. Karen spent most of the journey looking at the road ahead to anticipate turns.

By the time she arrived back at Baker, Baker and Davison was was exhausted. Her arms ached and she was certain that despite her best efforts, the cake would be mangled and broken inside its stupid cardboard box. Why couldn't they have just gotten it delivered like everything else! It wouldn't be her fault that the cake might look like a dog's breakfast!

There were a few men gathered out the front of the building as she approached. She hoped none of them worked for the company. Karen felt her cheeks colouring with embarrassment as she came nearer, precariously balancing the box in her arms. They'd all have a good laugh at the antics of the new girl, she bet! She focused on taking on step after another, keeping her arms steady, and trying to look as though she did this all the time.

Nobody was fooled. Two men rushed forward to help. She looked over the box and saw they were both junior architects - Samuel and Matt. The latter arrived a mere second or two before the other and left poor Sam hanging back with no space to help.

"I'll take that," Matt said, sliding his hands underneath the box. Karen relaxed when she felt him take the weight and gratefully relaxed her own hold. Her elbows ached from having been locked in the same position for so long. 

"Ta," she said, rubbing her arms. "It's so awkward!" She flashed Sam a smile and he shrugged, stepping away. She caught him giving Matt a very dirty look and turned her attention politely away. "Would you mind helping me get it inside?"

"Love to. This Bonnie's cake?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Karen asked, holding the door open for him.

"She told me there'd be cake at five."

Karen laughed and took off her glasses. The lobby was decorated in brown and tasteful gold tones. "It's supposed to be a big secret. Sarah's playing at the secret service."

"Everyone gets a cake when they go, though," said Matt. "Well. Not that a lot of people have gone ... press the button, please ... but the ones that have all got cake."

She darted forward and pressed the button to call the lift. "I'm afraid I might've mangled it on the way here! The box is such an awkward shape ... and he showed me the cake before I took it, it had a lovely message on top ..."

"It'll still taste the same," Matt reasoned.

"No, it'll be spoiled," Kare insisted. 

The lift pinged as it settled on the ground floor. The doors rolled open. Karen pushed the button for the third floor and then took hold of the other end of the box, just to be sure that it wasn't going to unexpectedly jump and splatter everywhere. When she looked up, Matt's eyes were on her. They were a warm, blueish-green - difficult to tell in the dim light. He was smiling gently at her.

"It'll be fine, Karen."

"What if I've mucked it up? It's her last day."

"You were really careful bringing it back?"

" _So_ careful!"

"I'm sure it'll be fine. We'll check it when we get upstairs, all right, and if there's a problem we'll sort it out."

"How!"

He didn't even blink. "I'll drive us down and get another."

Karen had no idea if he would make good on such a promise if it should come to that; but the fact that he was making it gave her hope. Hope, that if she had completely stuffed this up, the damage could be undone. She smiled a little.

"That's better."

"You've got your own car?" She asked, changing the subject.

His smile deepened. "Yeah. It's nothing special, but it gets me around. Can't afford to run it every day," he added, a touch sheepishly, "but it's there when I need it."

"That's cool," she said, meaning it. Karen didn't know anybody her age who had their own car. Not that she knew how old Matt was ... but he looked around her age. 

She let the box go when they arrived on level four. Matt dutifully carried it for her while she asked Debbie to tell Sarah she was back. Matt and Karen gave Sarah a few seconds head start, smiling awkwardly at one another, until Karen said it was probably enough and they could go on. 

Matt put the box on the tea-room table. There were sandwiches covered in plastic wrap on trays and urns of tea heating up. A pile of pale pink serviettes were folded in half and stacked next to a plate of biscuits. It did not look like any party she would enjoy.

"Moment of truth!" Matt's fingers (which were beautifully long, like a pianist's fingers, Karen thought) hovered over the lid.

"I can't look," she buried her face in her hands and listened to him removing the cardboard top. "How is it? Is it okay?"

She felt his hands upon her wrists as he gently drew her hands from her face. "Look for yourself."

To her amazement and extreme relief, the icing was intact. A little had come away on to the lid, but not enough to spoil it. Thick, yellow letters clearly spelled out, _Good-Bye, Good Luck, Bonnie!_ on the massive cake. Karen sighed and pressed her hand to her heart.

"Thank goodness. Thank goodness!" She pressed a quick kiss to Matt's cheek. "Thank you. I just know I would've dropped it before it got here."

"You're welcome," he replied. The flirtatious grin he had given her earlier returned. "You can make it even by coming out with me ... and my mates ... this weekend."

"Oh! Thought you didn't want to take a nice girl out!"

He started to answer but was cut off as Sarah hurried in, parting Matt from her. She looked at the cake. "It's perfect. Oh, well done you," she turned, rubbing Karen's arm.

"And - " Karen looked at Matt, fully prepared to give him credit, too. But he was shaking his head at her, smiling slightly.

Sarah kept talking. "Okay, Karen. If you'd get things ready here - I'll go and start bringing everyone in."

Karen waited until Sarah had gone. She smiled at Matt. "Wanna help?"

"And get first pick of the sandwiches? You bet."

Together, they peeled off plastic and took jugs of lemonade out of the fridge. Matt poked through the sandwiches, cut into triangles, and chose one with egg and cress. He leaned back against the sink to eat it with casual nonchalance.

"How long have you worked here?" She asked him, opening a top cupboard in the hunt for extra teacups. 

"Two years," he replied. "It's not bad. Pays the bills."

"Bought you a car," she said, finding the cups and arranging them on the counter. "Tea?"

"Why not. You quite like that I've a car, don't you?"

She shot him a grin. "None of my friends have cars. I can't drive."

"I'll give you a lesson."

"Would you?" She poured him tea and passed the cup. "I'd like that. I'd be careful. I'm very responsible."

Matt laughed. He had a good, honest-sounding laugh. "I bet you are. Nice girls are always very responsible."

She sighed and tutted. "There you go again. You don't even know if I'm nice or not."

"I can tell."

"You can't tell!"

"Any man with a bit of experience with birds can. It's easy. Only, the thing about you is ... are you going to stay nice?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He smiled. It was all very friendly banter, and there was nothing lecherous in the expression at all - there was a good deal of curiosity, though. "You're a nice girl who wants to be bad. Not sure you've got it in you, though."

She set her hand on her hip. "And nice girls are boring, I suppose?"

"Usually," he said with a flippant air, sipping his tea.

"Maybe you just don't know what to do with a nice girl. A bad girl puts out, gives you anything you like ... makes it easy for you. Ever think there might be more challenge and reward with a nice girl?"

He raised his eyebrows, grinning. "Are you trying to sell yourself here, darling?"

She looked him up and down, the ghost of a smile playing about her lips. "You couldn't afford me."

 _That_ got a good laugh out of him. Before he could make an answer the room began to fill up, and Karen found herself occupied serving tea. By the time she was done everyone had gathered and a presentation was made for Bonnie. The two Mr. Bakers and Mr. Davison gave her a bouquet of flowers and publicly thanked her for her work. Mr. Delgado then introduced Karen as her replacement to anyone who might have missed her in the past three days. The cake was cut up and passed around.

Karen lost sight of Matt. It wasn't helped by the fact that now there was a social gathering almost every man working for the company wanted to talk to Karen. They quickly became a blur of faces and names. Sam Vincent stuck around the longest. He was rather the opposite of Matt in many ways, Karen thought. He was classically handsome but that gave him a kind of blandness; his polite, congenial manner of speaking would be right at home in her father's drawing room. This was the kind of man her mother had told her to look out for (for entirely different reasons than the _other_ kind) and the sort her father would take to in a heartbeat.

So, naturally, she got bored. And rebellious. She changed her mind about a couple of things while she listened to him talking about his plans for the future.

She jumped a little as a hand grasped her elbow. It was Matt, she realised, and she opened her mouth to speak but he was quicker.

"See you Monday," he whispered. He was gone before she had the opportunity to tell him she would like to go out with him ... and his friends ... after all.


	5. Double Diamond

**July, 1964**

One morning, Matt found an internal office envelope waiting on his desk. He looked down at it with mild curiosity. He got these, sometimes, usually from either Contracting or Mr. Delgado with something about his pay. The envelope was in bad shape. The front of it was covered in a black, hand-drawn, three-by-ten grid. Each square had names and departments written in and crossed out as the envelope was used and re-used. He began to roll up his shirt sleeves, looking at his name at the bottom. _Matt Smith, jnr. arch._ He didn't recognise the handwriting.

Matt flipped the envelope over and reached inside. He pulled out something that he did not expect. It was a copy of the latest _New Musical Express_ , or as it was better known, NME. He could tell by the bent corners that it was second-hand. Someone else had already read it. Matt opened and flicked through it, puzzled. One of the pages sprang open and Matt saw there was a small piece of card marking it. All at once he realised where the copy of NME had come from.

The card bookmarked the gig guide page. Red ink circled a listing for the Marquee's August acts. The Yardbirds. Matt raised his eyes to the ceiling and smiled. Well, _somebody_ was being very direct! 

He unlocked his bottom drawer and took out his pending work. Matt was barely aware of the other men filling the floor, and mumbled distracted greetings to the few who passed him.  Sam Vincent settled in his seat opposite Matt's desk. The annoying slurp he always took from the rim of his morning tea was the only thing that managed to penetrate his thoughts: it was _that_ annoying.

Matt turned over the piece of card. There was nothing written on it - it was simply a placeholder to get his attention. Matt penciled a message of his own on one side. _Tickets on me. M._  

Now ... to get this to her ... Matt looked down at his desk for inspiration and found it staring him in the face. He snapped the leads of his pencils one by one until he was left with a handful of blunt instruments. He gathered them up and tried to conceal the smug grin threatening to spread across his features. It was the perfect plan.

"Hey Smith, get me a  - "

"Busy," Matt held up his hand to stop whatever Sam's request from the stationery room would be. 

He took the pencils upstairs, passing Lulu's desk with a wink and a grin. He slowed as he approached Karen's. She had been with the company for three, perhaps four weeks now. As far as he knew she'd settled in very nicely. He'd always meant to ask her out again, but contracts had been pouring in and he'd not had a moment to himself. When they did meet, other people were always around. Sam Vincent, for one. But Sam Vincent wasn't getting copies of NME with secret messages, was he? 

Karen wore a pretty crocheted dress in cream. Her hair was brushed into its familiar curly-ended bob, eyes darkly painted. She was typing - quite slowly, actually - and squinting at a page of scrawl to the right of her green typewriter. She did a double-take as he came into view.

Matt glanced around. He didn't want to get her into any trouble. She threw a quick look at the door of Mr. Baker's office behind her. She leaned forward as Matt approached.

He slipped her the card. She looked down at it and smiled. Matt felt her eyes on him as continued to the stationery room, not daring to stay any longer than he had to. It might've been a foolish precaution - but he had seen the girls get stern talkings-to when they were caught chatting. It looked like she had a lot of work to do judging from the stack of paper at her elbow. Everybody was busy with the latest contracts.

The stationery room had been transformed. Karen had done herself proud. Matt had no difficulty at all locating new, sharp pencils and tossed the blunt ones in the bin. He had better things to do than stand around sharpening lead. When Matt came out he looked Karen's way again. She was smiling, temptingly, her head to one side. The card was behind her ear with fresh handwriting upon it.

Matt glanced around and came forward again, plucking the card from her ear. She gave a playful little laugh, cutting it short when she remembered they might be overheard. Matt looked down at her note.

_Hope you can dance. xx_

He raised his eyebrows at her and saluted her with the card. He kissed it when he passed out of her sight.

Once back at his desk, Matt pushed all thoughts of Karen from his mind. It wasn't difficult. She was an extremely pretty girl, and seemed up for it - but it wasn't in him to daydream when there was work to be done. Better daydreams about Karen could be had when he was lying in bed at night, anyway. He cleaned his reading glasses and then immersed himself in the work at hand.

It was a very hot July. Matt opened the windows around lunch time to try and get some fresh air circulating and pulled his sticking shirt from his body. The little fans that had been distributed the month before were doing little to cool down anyone on level three. Matt took a break and stood in front of one of them, letting the cooler air blow back the hair from his brow.

"Smith, a word?"

He opened his eyes and reluctantly straightened up. Sam was standing at his elbow, watching him intently. "Yeah?"

"I wanted you to know _I've_ asked Miss Gillan to go out with me."

Matt studied him for a few moments, deliberately teasing it out. He did not feel at all threatened by the other man. In other circumstances, they never chased the same kind of skirt, but the new secretary had managed to blur lines and appeal to them both. Matt wondered if Sam was threatened by _him_ , or if he always staked his claim on girls to warn off potential competition. 

"Who?" He asked, affecting total ignorance.

"Mr. Baker's new secretary. You know quite well who I mean."

"Oh, _Karen_ ," Matt answered as though he had finally put two and two together. He and Karen weren't friendly enough to be on a first name basis - they'd never met outside of work, but he sensed it would really annoy Sam. And he was quite right.

"Miss Gillan," he stressed.

Matt bent down in front of the fan again. "Why are you telling me? Do you want me to drive you two somewhere, chaperone you?"

"I'm telling you because of that day with the cake! At Miss Langford's farewell, you were _very_ quick to help her! I'm simply giving you notice. I'm asking her out."

"Are you warning me?"

"Of course _you_ would jump to that conclusion," Sam tutted scathingly. "I am merely attempting to keep a level playing field. It could get rather awkward if she were to be approached by multiple gentlemen here, wouldn't it?"

"You can't stake a claim on something that's not yours, Sam. Maybe she'd like lots of blokes asking her out. I bet she goes out with loads of them, different ones, every weekend." Matt suggested mildly. He closed his eyes, feeling his hair rippling back.

"She is not that sort of girl," Sam replied testily.

Matt thought of the little kisses on the card and the copy of NME in the internal envelope. He was not certain what Karen was like - but he was sure Sam had no idea. He knew she wanted to go to clubs and didn't; knew she loved music and couldn't drive. Not a great deal else, save that she wanted to be bad. How bad, he wasn't sure, but he was convinced it would be too bad for the likes of Sam Vincent. 

Oh. And she was a magnificent flirt in her own, coy way. That little card tucked over her ear was a stroke of genius.

"I'm very busy trying to cool down," Matt informed Sam casually. "Why don't you give notice of your affections elsewhere?"

He waited until he heard Sam leaving and then opened his eyes, giving his retreating back a very sour look. Some girls wanted to belong to his sort. They liked to be told where to be and how to dress. Karen, Matt remembered with a smile, would be getting enough of that from her old man. _She_ wouldn't take well to being told what-for from anyone else. Matt had never felt less threatened in his life.

Matt took a break around three. It felt cooler on the street than it had inside the office, where the same hot, recycled air circulated. He bought himself a coke and smoked, enjoying the opportunity to stretch his legs as he put some space between himself and the office building. There was a phone booth around the corner. Matt made for it.

He opened the red door and put his bottle of coke on top of the telephone casing. Cigarette hanging from lips, he dug around in his wallet for change. He placed the receiver between shoulder and ear as he pushed coins into the machine.

"Baker, Baker and Davison, how many I direct your call?" Debbie sounded older on the phone, Matt thought.

He put on a Scottish accent that sounded ridiculous to his own ears. It was probably completely unnecessary - Debbie was unlikely to recognise his voice over the phone, but why not have a little fun? The cigarette was removed from his lips and pinched between thumb and forefinger. "Colin Baker's desk, please."

Matt took another quick drag, filling the already stuffy booth with more smoke. This was silly: he was almost twenty-six, but he didn't care. He liked games, and the playful side of Karen definitely appealed.

"Mr. Baker's office," Karen's clear, undeniably (and legitimate) Scottish voice came to the phone.

Matt grinned and leaned against the side of the booth. "I hear you're a very lucky girl."

There was a pause. Then in a low, suspicious tone: "who is this?"

"You know, that's almost what I asked myself when I received a copy of NME on my desk this morning? Only mine was a bit more like 'who is this _from_ '".

Another pause. When her voice came back it was even softer and he had to strain to hear her. "You shouldn't be phoning. Won't you get into trouble?"

"I'm round the corner. In a phone booth."

"Are you?" She definitely sounded amused now. "Why am I such a lucky girl, then?"

"Heard Sam Vincent asked you out."

"Did you?"

"On a date."

"Well."

"Are you going to go?"

"Where?"

"On a date. With Engelbert Humperdinck. Sam Vincent."

"Maybe."

"You won't have a very good time," he told her, smiling, "he'll want to meet y'dad before you do."

"What's wrong with that?"

He laughed. "I don't think you want to go out with anybody your dad will like."

"At least he asked me out. I met another bloke during my first week here. I thought he liked me - but I've hardly seen him since."

"He's been busy."

"A likely story."

"He's sorry. Thinks you'd have a better time if you went out with him, instead."

"Then he should ask me himself, shouldn't he?"

Matt took a quick drag. "He will. Meet me downstairs in the lobby after work."

"What for?"

"I'm going to take you out for a drink, aren't I? Downstairs in the lobby, then?"

"Maybe."

"Don't be coy."

"But you like coy."

"I do. I really do. See you after work." 

Matt hung up. He hadn't given her the opportunity to confirm that she would be there ... but his gut feeling promised she would be. Karen had been flirting with him on the phone with her monosyllabic answers. She'd been speaking softly, but he'd heard that loud and clear.

He let himself out of the booth and dropped his smoke butt to the ground, pressing his shoe against it until it snuffed out. Matt took a swig from his coke and headed back to work. His mother would've told him off for being so underhanded. _It'll come back to bite you!_ She would say, shaking her head. Matt didn't like Sam, though the other man had never done him wrong. They had very different personalities. Getting one over him was childish but terribly satisfying.

Karen wasn't in the lobby when he arrived later that day. At ten past, he began to wonder if he had seriously misjudged the conversation on the phone. He went back over it. Perhaps she had been bothered by his cavalier attitude, annoyed at his interference. Perhaps his delay in asking her out properly had offended her. His worries were put to rest when the lift opened and she stepped out in that fine cream dress, tugging a little pair of lacy gloves up to her wrists. 

"Ready to go?" He asked, stepping up to her. He wished he'd brought a spare shirt along; the sweaty one he'd been stuck in all day would have to do. 

Karen stopped in front of him. She folded her arms before her body. "Ask me properly."

She had more than a little pride, this one. He quite liked it about her. She was going to make him work for it. She probably had as many double-standards as the next girl but she was playful and had funny ... he didn't mind taking the trouble to get in with a girl who was worth it.

So he was very sincere when he asked her. Matt smiled and glanced down. She was right. He hadn't asked her properly, and she deserved that. "I'd love for you to come and have a drink with me," he said, "would you?"

Karen gave him that smile again, the one that _did_ things to him, and nodded.  He escorted her out of the building and along to the pub a few doors down the road. Matt frequented this particular pub quite often. It was warm and cosy in the wintertime with its big, crackling fireplaces. And in summer, they threw open the windows so patrons could sit at long tables directly overlooking the street. 

They found one of these tables. Karen hopped up onto a stool and tucked her feet neatly on to the footrest. She put her bag on to the table and lifted up her hair to cool her neck. This close, Matt could see where the strands stuck to her skin, darkening with sweat. His mouth went dry at that simple, intimate glimpse. Faint, though defined freckles sprinkled up her neck.

She folded her hands behind her head to keep her hair up. "Babycham, please."

He nodded. Right. Drinks. Matt ordered a glass of Babycham for Karen and a pint of Double Diamond for himself. He also purchased a packet of cheese and onion crisps. Karen took it out from under his arm as he balanced the drinks, setting them down on the table without spilling a drop. She applauded him.

"Cheers," Matt said, clinking his glass against hers. He glanced at Karen. She was looking out into the street as she drank, the muscles in her throat rippling beneath her skin. He opened the packet of crisps.

"Question," Karen said, resting her chin on her hand. "Did you only ask me out to get one over the other bloke? Are you just using me?"

Matt paused, crisp halfway to his mouth. He lowered it. "I don't like Sam. Anybody'll tell you that. He told me he was going to ask you out and he was such a twat about it. And then I realised just how long it'd been since I met you ... I always meant to ask you out again, you know. I just get busy, sort of distracted by my work."

"That's not a bad thing, since that's what they're paying you for," Karen replied evenly. She reached into the bag for a handful of crisps.

Matt sensed he was off the hook. He ate his crisp. "Are you going to go out with him, then?"

"Maybe. I didn't say yes or no. He was awfully nice about it, you know. Paid me a lot of attention."

"I work harder than he does. I do the work, he brown-noses. True story, ask anyone."

"No, I'd believe that," Karen said quietly. He hadn't expected her to make that concession - he thought she would play up her interest in Sam to frustrate him. "It's a bit much, really. Sort of gives me the creeps. It's funny because he's quite nice-looking, isn't he? And he's always very friendly. But when I see him I have this sort of 'oh dear' reaction. Don't say anything," she hastily added.

Matt took a mouthful of his pint. "I won't. So," he didn't want to sit about discussing Sam, "you live with your Mum and Dad, then. What were you doing before you came here?"

He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. He offered one to Karen, which she took. He wedged a second one between his lips as he tucked the package away.

"Not much," she confessed. "This is my first job. I wanted to work for ages but my Dad ... he's got plenty of old-fashioned ideas. He wasn't very pleased that I went behind his back to get this job. He'd rather I just get married ... have babies. I didn't feel like I had anything for myself, so I took a typing course and I got a job. All by myself."

"Good for you!" 

Matt struck a match and lit the end of her cigarette. His focused on Karen as she drew the smoke into her lungs, the end of the cigarette flaring bright red. She lifted her gaze and smiled as she gently exhaled a plume of smoke. Karen rested her elbow on the table, the cigarette held daintily aloft. 

"Ta," she said, watching him light his own, shake out the match, and drop it in the ashtray.

"You're welcome. So how does he feel about it now you've been at it for a few weeks?"

"Bit better," she admitted. "Mum talked him round. I think she told him that I might meet a smart executive at work, so he's hoping for that."

"Are you?" He grinned.

She coughed and shook her head. "No! Bit young to get married, aren't I? What about you, have you got some fancy bird on the side with a big rock on her finger?"

" _No_ ," Matt laughed. "No. No bird on the side."

"Nah, you don't look the type who could pull a fancy bird."

"You're cheeky."

"And you are very sure of yourself. Phoning me up from the street like that!"

He took a long, steady draw from his cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. "You forced yourself on a date with me. Circling the ad in the gig guide!"

"You said you'd take me weeks ago," she insisted, eyes wide. "I wasn't going to sit around waiting forever."

"So you thought you'd make a nuisance of yourself until I asked you properly?"

"It worked!" She cried, laughing innocently. She tapped the crumbling ash into the ashtray.

Sam Vincent chose that moment to pass by the pub on his way home. He paused and looked in, staring at them both in the open window. Karen blushed and bit her lip.

"Hi."

"Miss Gillan." His gaze slipped to Matt, where it narrowed. "Smith."

"Have a good night, Sam."

Sam nodded once at Karen and then walked on. She put her hand over her mouth, muffling horrorstruck laughter as she turned to Matt.

He took a drink. Matt felt a little disturbed, actually. He'd always considered Sam to be a prat and an irritation, but there was something much angrier in his eyes than he had expected to find there. Matt had deliberately gone against what he'd wanted. It meant nothing to him, really - but he saw at once that Sam had taken this _very_ personally. 

He found a smile for Karen and shook off his concerns. "Well. Work will be entertaining tomorrow."

They had a second round of drinks and another packet of crisps between them. Matt tested the waters as to whether Karen would go out with him for dinner, but she told him she couldn't on such short notice.

"Could on the weekend, maybe?"

"I'm not busy Saturday night," he replied.

It was closing in on six-thirty. Matt had a much better idea of who she was by now, and was pleased to discover she was one of those rare girls who actually had something interesting to say. She talked a lot (but not too much) and seemed to have an opinion on everything (except politics, which just made her shrug her shoulders). They spent most of the afternoon just talking about music.

"I'd drive you home, but I haven't got the car tonight," Matt said. This is why he should've planned asking her out in advance, he thought.

He wanted to see where she lived. She had a posh air about her, from the way she smoked to the way she held herself. When he'd asked her about where she lived she had deliberately downplayed it as a 'nice place north of London'. The discovery would have to wait until Saturday. He would definitely have his car then ... and it could probably do with a good clean Saturday morning.

Karen was taking the bus home so they separated a few streets away from work. He watched her get on the red double-decker. She waved at him through the window as it pulled away from the curb and into traffic.

Saturday, he thought, was going to be a very good night.


	6. A Hard Day's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter: some non-con elements are ahead.

It was nearly seven when Karen finally placed the dust cover over her typewriter. The extra contracts the company had picked up were beginning to overwhelm the employees. Extra work had been given to Lulu and Karen, on top of their usual tasks as the secretaries of the two Mr. Bakers. It might have been manageable were it not for Sarah getting sick. She had come down with an awful cold. To her credit, she had attempted to work Tuesday and Wednesday, and Mr. Davison had sent her home immediately both days. Debbie was putting his calls through to either Karen or Lulu. They were so busy that they didn't have a moment to scratch themselves. 

Karen was bone-weary when she finally got home. She came into the living room and leaned against the wall. Her parents were watching _Danger Man_. 

"You look tired, love," her mother said, sitting forward. She was in her floral dressing gown. "Have you had anything to eat?"

"No. Not hungry," Karen said, peeling off her gloves.

Her father gave her a knowing smirk. "Bet the gloss of working's worn off now."

Did he have to? Right now? Karen straightened up. "Actually, I will have something," she said to her mother. 

It was a redundant comment since her mother would never take no for an answer as far as supper was concerned. She was already up and putting on her slippers, kissing Karen's cheek as she passed through the doorway. Karen watched the television for a moment or two, and then turn to follow.

"Karen."

She looked back. Oh, what did he want now?

Her father offered her a different kind of smile. The smirk was gone. "You're doing a good job."

Karen stared, surprised. This was the first word of encouragement she had heard from her father about her job. She managed to smile and nod. "Thanks, dad."

Her mother put a pot of stew on the cooker and buttered a slice of bread. Karen sat at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands, convinced that she could fall asleep simply by closing her eyes. 

"I won't be home for dinner on Saturday," she looked up, hands pressed to her cheeks and elbows on the table. "I forgot to say yesterday."

"Have you and Jenna got plans?"

That was her opportunity to lie. Yet she had been made to feel bad enough about the last lie she had told, and she was not particularly fond of fibbing to her parents, anyway. "No. A man from work asked me out. One of the junior architects."

"Oh. What's his name?"

"Matthew."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," Karen murmured, too tired for a proper conversation. She picked up a triangle of bread and took a big, lazy bite. She closed one eye and studied it as though she had never seen bread before. "Have dinner somewhere."

"Your father will want to meet him first. Don't make that face, Karen, I want to meet him first, too."

Karen chewed in a very unladylike fashion. "I don't think he'll want to."

"Why not?"

"Because he's cool," Karen said, seeming to wake up a little. "He's really _cool_ , Mum. He's got his own car. And he likes music. He goes out to clubs and things. And he told me yesterday that he plays guitar."

"Well that's all very good Karen, but we'd still like to meet him before he takes you anywhere." 

She put the bowl of stew in front of Karen. Despite her earlier protests of not being hungry, the smell of it rose to her nostrils and she felt hunger flare in the pit of her stomach. She dipped in  her bread. Tasted it.

"This is good, Mum."

"Just have him pop in for a minute, Karen, I'm sure he's not so cool that he can't say hello."

"Okay, maybe," Karen mumbled into her stew, because it was easier to agree right now. She was too tired to argue her point _and_ remain civil. "Dad just said I was doing a good job."

Her mother sat opposite. "He's proud, love. It's not quite what he's got in mind for you, but you went out and did something for yourself and you've stuck at it. He's quite proud."

"Just as long as I meet my future husband soon?"

"Karen, I'm going to ignore that tone and just put it down to you being very tired."

She winced. "I'm sorry. I'm so tired. I was just surprised ... he's been fighting me on this, giving me silent treatment and funny looks. I wasn't expecting it."

"Well I won't say he's rapt about it," her mother conceded, nibbling a biscuit, "but he is trying. Which is why you should do the right thing and bring your young man in Saturday night."

Karen giggled a bit. "He is not 'my young man' Mum."

"Then what is he?"

"I don't know. We're just going out, for a laugh, you know."

"And because he's _cool_?"

"Mum," Karen laughed, "did you think Dad was cool once?"

"I still think your Dad is cool."

That had them both giggling over stew and biscuit for a good while.

She slept long and soundly that evening. The weeks of new routine were catching up with her. The extra work and long days weren't helping. Even so, she felt so satisfied. She liked working in the office. Karen loved hearing the typewriters clacking and dinging. She liked walking down the street in a smart dress with somewhere to _go_ , looking competent and busy. She was earning and contributing. Karen thought she would've missed her free time and afternoons at the Twelve O'Clock ...but she didn't have time to. She was smart enough to know that eventually she would tire of the novelty, but it wasn't today. And it probably wouldn't be next week, either.

It was nice to be needed, that was the truth. She had a place at Baker, Baker and Davison. People depended on her. She was _necessary_.

That was a good feeling.

Thursday morning came too soon, but she woke feeling refreshed and ready to work. She opened her bedroom window and allowed the morning breeze in. It was promising to be another hot day. She chose a purple mini skirt, patterned tights and a cream blouse. She favoured that particular blouse as it was airy and cool, and the office always seemed to get too hot.

She wasn't able to see Matt during work. He was on his floor and she on hers; their paths did not naturally cross. Over drinks the night before he had told her how busy he had been. She did not anticipate him making any trips to the stationery room today. 

Lulu came by her desk at one-thirty. "Karen, go have lunch, okay? A proper lunch in the tea-room today. I'll cover you."

"No, it's okay," Karen protested. She took her fingers off the typewriter and flexed them. "There's too much to do - 

"Go on! It's not doing you any good staying put all day. And you'll get tired, and your work will be affected ... so go on." Lulu waved her toward the tea-room. "You can cover for me when you get back!"

Karen shot her a quick smile. "Ta, Lulu." 

She hurried to the bathroom first, freshening up her make-up and brushing out her hair. Her lunch was waiting for her in the work refrigerator. It was made by her mother every morning. Today, her paper bag contained a ham sandwich, a small red apple, and a slice of fruitcake. Karen made herself a cup of tea and sat at the table with a copy of _Melody Maker_. She ate with quick, hungry bites, relishing the opportunity to forget about work for a little while.

"Hi, Karen."

Karen looked up, mouth full and cheeks bulging. Sam Vincent was standing across from her, holding a glass of water. How on _Earth_ did he manage to find her so often? Matt was right about the work thing. Sam couldn't possibly be doing his fair share of it if he was always on the fourth floor. She gave him a little finger-wiggling wave while she worked on swallowing her mouthful.

"You don't mind if I call you Karen, do you? I suppose we've been friendly for awhile ..."

She waved her hand in front of her mouth, indicating that she could not politely answer. She shrugged and nodded.

"It's been busy lately, hasn't it?"

Karen nodded again. 

"Yes ... busy on my floor, too ... I wondered," he said in a brighter tone, "if you'd had any time to think about going out with me?"

Oh, yes. That. Karen realised she'd forgotten to answer him. She finished what was in her mouth and washed it down with a mouthful of tea.

"I don't know, Mr. - _Sam._ I think we might like different things?"

"Tell me what you'd like to do."

"I like ... I'd like to go to the Marquee, or another club ... listen to bands, stay out late, dance, drink ... I just don't think that's really your thing?"

Sam coloured a little. "Well, perhaps not. But we could have a go of it, couldn't we? Perhaps this weekend."

She glanced at her tea. "I'm sorry. I've got plans this weekend."

In a strange, stiff little voice that she did not much care for, Sam said, "...with Smith?"

"Yes. He asked me."

Sam studied her for a moment in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable. "Did he ask you before or after I did?"

Karen straightened up a little. She wasn't about to let him make her feel this way. She wanted to tell him to stuff it, that it wasn't any of his business ... but there was no need to be rude when they worked in the same building. Besides. His pride was hurt.

Her silence, however, gave him his answer before she could put voice to it. "After."

"After," he repeated softly. He nodded. "Enjoy your lunch then. See you later."

Sam smiled and left her to it. Karen watched him go. She slowly brought her sandwich to her mouth and took a big bite to steady that weird, crawly feeling in her stomach.

 

   
Karen was still at her desk by six. She had managed to finish the excess spillover work she'd been given and was now left with letters that had to go out the following day. She picked up the first page and squinted at Mr. Baker's writing. It wasn't fair, really. How could he expect letters to be done accurately if he couldn't even put the time into making his notes legible? Still, she preferred this to having him dictate letters to her. He always went too fast, and she was convinced she had sent out letters that weren't worded exactly as he had intended them. Luckily, Bonnie had left a cheat sheet in the desk before she'd left. It was the basic body of the letters he would send, with blanks left for the details. It had saved her neck many times.

She was tired and her mind started to wander. Karen began to think about her date with Matt on Saturday. Perhaps, she thought, they could see _A Hard Day's Night_ before they went to dinner. She had already seen the Beatles' movie once, but it had been so good that she needed an excuse to go again. 

" _It's been a hard day's night, and I've been working like a dog,"_ she sang softly to herself while she wound a new sheet of paper into the typewriter. Matt had said the Beatles weren't really his thing. He might not have seen the movie yet, then. " _It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log. But when I da da da da, I find the da da da da, and make me feel all right._ " She was going to have to buy that album and learn the words properly.

Lulu came to Karen's desk with hat and gloves on at six-thirty. "I'm done in, Karen. Why don't you go home too?"

"In a few," Karen replied. She looked up from the last letter. "I want to finish these so they're right to go out tomorrow."

"Do you want me to wait? Everyone on this floor's gone home."

"Have they?" Karen leaned forward and peered down the hallway.

Lulu nodded. "Yes. I think a few architects are still working downstairs. Some lights are on. I can wait if you like."

"No ... you go on. I'm fine, honestly. I'll just do this and straighten up Mr. Baker's office."

"Okay. Get a taxi home, okay? It's too late to wait around for buses."

Karen nodded and smiled. "Thanks, Lulu. I will."

"See you tomorrow," Lulu said, and disappeared up the hallway.

Karen settled down and yawned into the back of her hand. She shook her head and wiggled her fingers midair. It was a good thing she had all those piano lessons! Her fingers were used to lots of work, but pushing down typewriter keys was a lot tougher than the ivories. She forced her attention on to the letter and finished it off, slowly and meticulously, so she would not make an error and have to start again.

She went for a short walk when she was finished. She looked briefly around the fourth floor. She had never seen it so dark and deserted. More people had worked back last night and she definitely hadn't been last to leave then. Most of the lights were off, and Lulu was right - somebody was still working downstairs. She could see the lights rising through the stairwell. Karen was tempted to go down and see if it was Matt ... but even if he was there, he would be very busy and trying to finish up so he could go home, too. She decided not to investigate.

Karen covered over her typewriter and tidied up the desk. She took out her handbag and locked the drawers. Then, she went into Mr. Baker's office to straighten everything up for tomorrow. Bonnie used to to do it first thing in the morning, but Karen preferred to do it before she went home (if Mr. Baker had already left for the evening.) It gave her more breathing space. She put his old newspapers in the bin and took his empty teacups to the kitchen. While there, she filled a small plastic measuring cup with water. Karen went back to his office and began watering the plants in the window, because she had learned he never remembered and the cleaners didn't do it.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Karen turned, spilling water over her fingers. Sam Vincent was standing in the doorway, watching her.

"You scared me," she confessed. 

Without thinking, she put her lips to her hand to lick up the spilled water - and then had second thoughts. She wiped her hand on her skirt instead. Sam had still not moved from the doorway or said a word. He was just looking at her. Karen felt that the office walls began to shrink and the door recede; Sam himself seemed to grow taller, broader. He was normally quite nice looking with his fair hair and steady grey eyes. Perhaps it was the artificial light because in that moment, Karen hardly recognised him. 

"I was just about to go home," she said, awkwardly. She was waiting for him to move away from the door. She did not want to brush past him. "It's late."

"Yes, it's late," Sam agreed. "Everyone else has gone home."

"Everyone?"

"Yes, it was just me downstairs."

"...oh." She was suddenly regretting her insistence for Lulu to go on ahead. She would not have done that had she known only one person was downstairs ... especially this particular person, who made her uncomfortable for reasons she could not quite identify. "Well. You should go home too, then."

He still wasn't moving. Karen couldn't stand here forever. She put down the measuring cup and moved toward the door. "Excuse me."

"I can take you home."

"No, it's all right, really."

"You don't want me to take you home, why's that?" Sam asked her in a flat, calm voice.

Karen frowned a little. She was tired and fast becoming nervous, which was infuriating. She didn't like having her emotions manipulated like this. "That's not what I said. I can get home by myself, and I'd rather not put you out."

"It wouldn't be any bother."

"I appreciate that," Karen reached for patience and civility, "but I can get myself home. Thank you. Excuse me."

He sighed. "Things have gotten odd between us now, haven't they."

"What d'you mean?"

"I asked you out. You rejected me, and now things are strange. That's a pity, don't you think?"

Karen opened her mouth to answer and hesitated. Her heart was starting to beat very fast. "I - I don't think things have to be odd ... I think we're both just tired, and I'm due home, so ..."

"Don't tell me what I am. I'm not tired."

"...sorry. Excuse me."

This time she didn't wait. She moved to pass him and Sam deliberately stepped into her path. Karen paused, and then tried the other way. He blocked her again. They looked at one another for a few seconds and in a number of rapid heartbeats Karen realised she had misjudged the situation. This wasn't just uncomfortable. This was so much more than that.

Sam came forward a step. Her fierce little pride wouldn't allow her to be cowed so easily and she stood her ground. He was right in her space and everything instinctive screamed at her to push him out of it ... but she stayed where she was, defiant. She was not going to let him scare her.

"If you won't let me take you out then we'll just have to skip ahead," Sam told her very quietly. He pressed his lips to hers. 

Karen's response was instantaneous. She turned her head aside and listened to her instincts at last, raising her hands to push him away. "Stop it," she hissed. 

He grabbed her hands and knocked them aside. Sam came at her again, more forceful this time, claiming her lips with his own. It was a hard, possessive kiss. His hand came to the back of her head to hold her in it until she was able to push him off. Karen made to go around him but he seized her arm and yanked her back.

"You teased me for weeks," he was saying. Sam's voice was low and shaky - nervous, but determined. "Stuck-up little bitch!" 

Karen slapped him with her free hand. It was impossible to tell who it shocked more. Sam held his face and tightened his grip on her arm, while Karen (who should have used the opportunity to move against him again) stood, shocked. She was frightened by the turn of events and had never actually hit anyone before. Some small, innocent part of her mind was convinced that should have been enough to stop it. It wasn't.

The last thing she expected was that Sam would hit her back. The backhanded slap across her cheek was so hard and sudden - she didn't even realise what had happened for a few seconds. The whole situation was surreal, she would never have thought ... not him, _here_ , and never, ever to _her_ ...

Too late, Karen realised they were moving. Her cheek flared, hot with pain. He had struck her tear ducts and she could feel tears flowing down her cheek. Her priorities were scattered - for a moment or two she was embarrassed that he had made her cry, _angry_ about it ... and then she was pushed face-down on the sofa. Sam's weight pressed against her. It had happened so fast ... so fast. She turned her head to the side and sucked breath into her oxygen-starved lungs. Sam bent her arm up behind her back and twisted it at an angle it was not meant to go. Karen gave a wrenching, agonised cry.

"Be a good girl," Sam's breath was hot against her ear, "and it won't hurt. You'll like it." 

He kissed her neck and began rubbing himself against her. She felt his hand move over her bottom, lifting her skirt. It slipped between her legs and tried to prise them apart. Karen woke from her shock and bucked against Sam.

"Get off, get off!" She cried, her voice weakened. He was pressed so hard against her back that she could hardly breathe, let alone shout. But she could scream - and she did when he twisted her arm again. 

This couldn't happen to her. She had heard about this sort of thing, of course ... but she'd always thought there was more to it than this. It had all unravelled so quickly that she hadn't even had the chance to fight him properly. Karen had believed that if any guy ever tried to make her she'd put up the fight of all fights - _no one_ would be able to do that to her! Sam wasn't a big guy. He was just an ordinary man. And she could do nothing with his weight against her. Nothing at all. 

He got her legs open while she screamed. She felt a wave of revulsion as he rubbed himself against her again. She heard his fly go down, which terrified her into twisting beneath him again until he put pressure on her arm. Not too much this time, but enough to remind her how much that hurt. 

"Please don't, please don't," she begged, hating herself and him for being reduced to that. 

"Ssh," he whispered to her, "you'll like it, I promise."


	7. The Midnight Oil

Matt Smith was beyond tired. He was surviving on only five hours of sleep, as he'd taken work home with him in an attempt to catch up. He'd sat downstairs at Mrs. Shaw's kitchen table long after the household had gone to bed, papers strewn across the pine tabletop. Most of his work were checks, which was easier to do from home without all the equipment. He tallied numbers and checked angles. After one, he was surprised by Mr. McCoy coming in the back door, unopened umbrella firmly in hand. The older man nodded cheerfully as if he expected to see him there.

"Hello, lad! Burning the midnight oil, are we? Ha ha!" Mr. McCoy pulled off a pair of wellies. He wore striped blue pyjama pants and his dressing gown. 

Matt had removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. He'd almost asked Mr. McCoy what on earth he had been doing in the garden so late at night ... _Matt'd_ been sitting at the table for five hours, and had not seen him go out! How long had he been out there, pottering around in Mrs. Shaw's garden shed? Asking seemed like far too much effort, though. He was done in. 

"Yes. Burning the ah, the midnight oil."

"Good, good!" Mr. McCoy said cheerfully. He'd helped himself to a leftover sausage in the fridge, waved it jovially at Matt, and went upstairs.

When Matt rose at six-thirty the next morning he did not remember the encounter. It did not come back to him until he was eating lunch - the memory made him laugh. It would've been easy to pass it off as a dream, but this was Mr. McCoy he was dealing with. That was about as normal as the man got. 

He hit a brick wall at two in the afternoon and remedied his weariness with two strong cups of coffee. He was finally making an impact on his workload. Matt was determined to finish his work accurately, and as soon as possible. This could be an excellent opportunity to stand out. He chose to work back as long as it took to finish.

However, by five-thirty he knew he wasn't going to make it. Matt was so tired that he began to see double. Figures blurred together. He reclined in his chair, the legs squeaking as they shifted. He hung his head back and rolled his shoulders. Muscles clicked and he groaned softly into the silence. 

The office was practically deserted. He was pretty sure it was just he and Sam left on the third floor - the office had gradually felt heavier, quieter, as it emptied out. He rubbed his eyes and jaw. Even the fourth floor was quiet now. Up until just a few minutes ago he'd been able to hear one of the girls clacking away at a typewriter. It was funny  ... he never noticed how loud the typewriters were during usual office hours. Their sound just blended in with everything else. With the office deserted, a single typewriter's sound carried down to his floor.

Matt tipped his head forward and tucked his chin to his chest. He looked across at Sam. 

"I'm knackered," Matt admitted to him, tossing his pencil on to the desk. It bounced off and rolled to the floor. "How'd you go?"

He glanced around the room. Many lights were off. Both their desk lamps were on, glowing through their green shades. Matt sat forward and began packing up and locking his work away.  His question to Sam had gone unanswered; Matt frowned and looked up.

"Sam?"

"No ... going to finish this job, then I'll be off," Sam finally replied, distracted.

_About time_ , Matt thought. He'd been surprised to see Sam working back actually - he had never seen him spending so much time in the office. During their last busy spree Sam had skulked off early every night, leaving the other junior architects to pick up the slack. Matt wasn't complaining. He turned the key in the lock and pocketed it. 

"Right. I'll see you in the morning, then. Night, Sam."

Sam gave him a distant little nod that could've meant anything. His sandy head was bent over the plans in front of him, pencil hovering over the page as if debating whether or not he should make a mark. Matt mouthed, _night, Matt_ to himself since Sam was no hurry to respond, and pulled on his jacket over his light blue business shirt. He hooked his shoulder bag over one arm and headed out.

He passed through the doors and stood by the lift. Matt had just pressed the button when he realised he'd left his glasses on his desk. He cursed softly and spun his body in the direction of the office, debating whether or not he should go back for them. Would he even need them tonight? Probably not, he just wanted to have dinner and maybe watch a little telly. He didn't need his glasses for that. He took two steps toward the office. Probably shouldn't leave them lying about, though, just in case...

The lift pinged and the doors slid open. Sod it. The glasses would be fine on his desk. He walked back to the lift and pressed the button marked G. It was time to go home.

As he descended he realised there was a strong likelihood that it had been Karen he'd heard typing until recently. As he'd passed the stairwell Matt had seen a faint light streaming down, indicating someone was still up there. He tried to think about the typing itself. Karen was a lot slower than either Lulu or Sarah, he'd noticed that. Had it been slow typing? He thought perhaps it had been. He lifted his arm and turned his wrist to check the time. Getting late. And he had the car tonight ... he could go up and ask if she wanted a ride home. The typing had stopped. There was every chance she was ready to leave. Assuming it was Karen, of course.

The lift came to a halt and the doors opened in the ground floor reception area. Matt looked up, considered, and then pressed the button for level 4. There was no harm in just going up and having a look. They'd get a chance to chat at any rate ... yesterday seemed like a very long time ago. The lift doors closed and he started going up.

Matt hoped it'd be her. Maybe they could even grab a bite before he took her home. He was dead tired, but the idea of spending a little time with Karen perked him up. He ran his hands through his hair, neatening it, while the lift ambled to the fourth floor. He probably looked a complete mess, tired and rumpled and hot, but there wasn't much he could do about that. Matt set himself a mental reminder to grab his glasses after he checked who was upstairs. Might as well secure those now he was back.

The office looked utterly alien to him, devoid of people and cast in a low light. He rarely spent time on the fourth floor, and had not come through this way since he was hired. The reception desk was neat and uncluttered, chairs in the waiting room lined up neatly. The magazines on the coffee table were as straight and organised as if they had been designed that way in this very office.  He navigated his way past the desk and into the office proper. It was quite spooky, really, how quiet it was. The desks and their tucked-in chairs were like little tombstones. 

He heard a woman scream. It shocked him into standing still, peering ahead into the office. He could see a light on at one of the desks before the executive offices - it spilled out from behind the partitions. He had been thinking that the office was as silent as a tomb and the scream was curiously in form with that. Even so, it was such an unexpected sound that for a few moments he could not process that he really had heard it. He found himself thinking about the kind of scream it had was - not one of fright, not exactly ... it was a scream of pain.

_That_ got him moving again. Matt unslung his shoulder bag and dumped it on one of the desks he passed. He did not call out - that wasn't wise. He advanced steadily on the row of offices. Matt realised that it was Karen's light on; he felt something cold and clammy squeeze his heart. It began to pound very hard. As he came around the partition he saw her handbag waiting on the desk, cover in place over her typewriter. Mr. Baker's light was on. 

"Please don't, please don't."

Matt heard her before he saw anything. That was all it took for him to _know_ , without an ounce of doubt, just what he was dealing with. The scream, the abandoned handbag, the plea.  He came into the office he saw Sam lying over Karen on the sofa, pinning her with his weight. He had her skirt up but her tights were still on; it seemed to be giving him some trouble, since he was trying to get them down using only one hand. The other was occupied with holding her elbow to her back. At a brief glimpse Matt saw his trousers were unfastened. 

Matt considered himself to be a pretty moderate kind of guy. He didn't fly off into fits of anger or get into fights in bars. He'd _been_ in fights but only two of them were ones he started. Both had involved his sister's honour. He rarely got angry, rarely raised his voice. He was a moderate, reasonable kind of guy. But in that moment, he saw _red._

He seized Sam by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off Karen. He threw him across the other side of the room. Sam, taken utterly by surprise, hit the wall before he could slow his momentum and crashed to the floor. Matt pointed at Karen, who had immediately scrambled up to her knees.

" _You all right?!"_ Matt cried forcefully, voice trembling with the weight of his anger.

Wide-eyed, make-up smudged, Karen nodded.

Matt wheeled back to Sam, who was simultaneously zipping himself up and trying to stand. He grabbed him by the upper arms and unceremoniously slammed him into the wall again. Sam groaned. 

"The fuck were you doing? _The fuck were you doing?!_ " Matt was shouting at him, banging him against the wall twice more. "Fucking _answer me!_ "

"We were just - her and me - bit of fun - !" Sam managed to say, his face contorted in pain.

"Fun? _I fucking heard her, Sam!"_

Matt was so enraged that he could barely articulate anything running through his mind. If he had walked in on this with any girl he would've stepped in ... but that this was _Karen_ , the silly secretary with her pencil sharpener and her Babychams and her big, hazel eyes, made it so much worse. Karen, who'd told him only the other day that she thought there was something a bit off about Sam and turned down his invitation to go out ... Sam had seen them together ...

He thrust Sam hard against the wall and looked over his shoulder at Karen. She was staring at him in shock, one hand pressed to her cheek. A brand new realisation struck Matt. He looked back to Sam.

"Did you hit her?! You fucking hit her!"

The other man was finally ready to fight back. Sam muttered something furiously under his breath and threw himself at Matt. They grappled, trying to overcome the other, but it didn't take long for Matt's rage to win out. He slammed his fist three times in quick succession into Sam's stomach, winding him. As Sam started to go down, Matt threw a clean uppercut to his jaw, dropping him.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" Matt snapped, flapping his aching hand in the air. He grimaced, clenching and unclenching his fist. "Fuck!"

Sam lay gasping like a beached fish on the carpet, doubled-over. Matt looked down at him. For a few seconds he was utterly unsure what he intended to do next. Putting the boot to the pathetic creature was a definite, and scary, possibility. The idea of hearing a few ribs crack ... he stared down at Sam, panting. He could fucking kill him for this, it would be so easy just to relinquish responsibility and control and go for it ...

Matt reined himself in. That ... that wasn't him. That wasn't how he did things. He stepped back and glanced at Karen, who was still kneeling on the sofa.

"Get your bag," he snapped at her. She hesitated. "Karen!" 

That got her moving. She sprang off the sofa and hurried out of the office. Matt squatted down by Sam's face and spoke in very low, menacing tones.

"If you so much as look at her again ...." he promised, leaving the threat open-ended. 

Matt stood and left Sam gasping on the floor. Karen was waiting outside, bag over her forearm. He pressed his hand into the middle of her back and steered her out. Matt's strides were naturally long; in this state he walked even faster than usual and Karen had to trot to keep up with him.

"Car's outside. I'm taking you home," he muttered at her. He snatched up his bag on the way.

His mind was spinning with fury. He never let go like this; he didn't quite know how to move past it. He ignored the little voice inside his head telling him that if he went back to the office and beat the ever-loving shit out of Sam the anger would let him be; he walked faster to escape the voice. He made them take the stairs rather than the waiting lift just so he was able to keep moving. Karen stumbled a few times. He moved his arm around her waist.

The car was parked a few streets over. Matt made for it, digging his keys out of his pocket as he went. He all but dragged Karen around to the passenger side and pushed the key into the lock. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry!" Karen suddenly burst out.

Matt left the keys in and straightened up, staring at her. Flabbergasted. Her outburst was enough to shock him from the worst of his anger. "What are you sorry for?"

"What happened!"

"That wasn't your fault."

"But you're angry with me!"

"I'm not - " He stopped suddenly, thinking back. He _wasn't_ angry with her, but he could see how she thought that. All he had done was snap and drag her around. She'd been so quiet. She wasn't even in hysterics with what had happened - she was made of something strong, this one was.

Matt softened his voice and pulled her to him. "I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with that ... fucker. I'm angry and scared, but not with you."

"What're you scared about?"

He hadn't the heart to tell her. If he hadn't come back, if he'd never thought to check that it was her and offer a ride home ... he dreaded to think what would have happened to Karen.  He drew her closer and wrapped his arms tightly around her frame. Her head dropped on to his shoulder and she squeezed him hard. He could feel her heart thundering rapidly away.

"You all right? Hey? Let's have a look at you." Matt drew back enough to take quick measure of her. He couldn't see any bruising but that didn't mean anything. It hit him again just how fortunate they were he'd come back upstairs. "Christ," he muttered, pulling her tightly to him again.

They stood on the footpath for a few long minutes, clinging to one another beside the car. The Islington streets were humming with traffic, but this one was deserted. The horror of what he'd seen was starting to lay claim to him. He couldn't imagine what it felt like for Karen. He'd never witnessed something like that before. It was scary.

"We should go to the police," Matt realised.

"No!" Karen said quickly, pulling back enough to look at him. She was blinking back tears. "No one will believe me. I'll lose my job. If my Dad finds out he won't let me work anymore. We can't. Please."

"I saw it, Karen. People will believe _us_."

She was shaking her head. "No. Matt, please."

He didn't agree with it, but it was her call. He sighed and nodded. "Hop in the car," he said quietly, opening the door for her. He waited until she was inside and closed the door. He walked around to his side in something of a daze; he wished he was merely overtired and had imagined it all.

Matt tossed his bag into the backseat and sat behind the wheel. He rubbed his hands over his face, dragging them down slowly. "Where do you live?"

"...St. John's Wood," she said.

Of course she did. Posh bird - he'd picked it right away. He pushed down on the clutch and turned the key in the ignition. Matt tapped the gearstick. "Put your hand here."

"Why?"

"So I can hold it, idiot."

"...Oh." Karen wiped her hand on her skirt and then placed it over the gearstick. Matt put his over the top and put the car into gear. He drove one-handed as much as he could and the rest of the time, his hand warmed Karen's.

He didn't say anything to her for most of the drive. Matt had no idea where to begin. He barely knew Karen, that was the problem, and now he had seen her in a terribly compromising position. They had shared something together no two people should ever have to. His knuckles ached. 

"Do you want to know what happened?" Karen asked. 

Matt glanced over at her. "You right to talk about it?"

"No. But I think you should hear it."

"I'll pull over up near Regent's Park, okay?"

They drove for a few more minutes. Matt stopped the car opposite Regent's Park like he said, moving the gearstick into park. Karen slipped her hand out from under his and used it to dig through her purse. He could see her dabbing under her eyes and wondered how long she had been silently crying for.

She explained what had happened. She talked with trembling detachment, as though she had read a terrible story that hit her too hard. Matt felt the old fury rising when she spoke of how Sam had struck her.

"It was so quick, it was just so quick," Karen said into her hand. "It just happened so fast. And the way he had my arm, I couldn't move." She looked over at him. "How come you were there? He said everyone had gone home."

Matt replied, "I thought it might've been you upstairs. I came back to ask if you wanted a ride home."

"Oh." She turned her gaze out the front windshield. "Imagine ... imagine if you'd not come back. Oh my god. Oh my god, if you'd not come back..."

"No, no, don't do that," Matt told her. He reached for Karen's cheek. It was damp and hot, and she winced when he touched it. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she dismissed, gingerly touching her jaw with her fingertips. "I never thought ..."

"What?"

"No. It's stupid. It doesn't matter."

Ordinarily, he would have pressed her for more details. However, tonight he let it go. He traced the shape of the steering wheel with his forefinger. "I guess this means you're not going to tell your parents."

"No."

"Karen..."

"You don't know," Karen began, her voice trembling violently, "how hard it was for me to get this job. I had to lie and say I was having extra - extra _piano_ lessons so I could take typing classes. I know you're thinking, 'poor little rich girl' but I've wanted this so badly, I've wanted to be a bit independent and have something that's mine and if I tell them ... I won't be allowed anymore, and I _need_ this!"  She took a few harsh gasps, clearly trying to stay in control of herself. "I can't tell them!"

"Okay, okay," he soothed, "then we'll just sit out here until you're a bit more together."

Karen nodded feverishly. They sat in awkward silence for a little while. Karen seemed to be teetering between full-blown tears and getting herself back on track. He thought what he had to say next might make matters worse, but it had to be discussed some time.

"You need to tell Mr. Baker though, Karen," he said softly, "this is important. Tomorrow morning, you have to tell him what happened. Talk to Delgado if it's easier for you. I'll come if you want. Will you tell them, at least?"

"Yes," she sniffled, dabbing underneath her eyes again. "Okay, I will."

"Come here," he reached for her again. Karen slid across the vinyl until she was against his side. Matt put his arm around her shoulder, rubbing it gently with his thumb. "I'm looking forward to Saturday," he said.

"My parents will want to meet you," Karen said, swallowing hard.

"That's a drag," he said with a little laugh. 

"You don't have to. It's their stupid old-fashioned ideas."

"It's up to you. If you want to please them, I'll meet them."

"Do you want to?"

"Not particularly. How about a smoke, eh, calm you down."

"All right." 

Matt dug Embassies and matches out of his jacket pocket. With one practiced hand, he put a smoke between his lips and lit up. He tucked the packet away while he took a long draw and passed it to Karen. The window was wound down a crack to let the smoke out.

Karen spoke when the cigarette was half burned out. She passed it to him. He tapped the ash out the window, over the top of the sill. 

"I've never been scared like that before," she admitted. Her voice was low but remarkably steadier than it had been.

"Scared the hell out of me, too," Matt told her. He took a quick drag. "Never lost control like that."

Karen rested her hand on his knee. "I'm glad you said that. I know you were ... because of me ... but that was pretty scary ..."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't ... don't apologise. It was just ... I'm glad it's not ... glad you don't lose control like that."

"I got into two scraps over my sister."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. She's older, by the way. Some boys down the street were saying nasty things about her. I decided to sort them out. They flattened me."

Karen laughed softly.

"Hey! Don't laugh. Second time, we were at a wedding, I think, and there was this bastard who kept following her about all night. I was drunk. Got into a fight. Won that time, though." He laughed. "You should see me in a bar fight though, when it all goes to hell and everyone's throwing punches at anyone they can land them on? I do the windmill. Throw my arms around like a windmill, clear a path, get the fuck out. Stop laughing. You're still laughing." Amused, he gave her a little nudge.

"I'd never even hit anyone until tonight," Karen said. "It felt really weird."

"Good on you for it though."

"Have you been with lots of girls?" She asked, quite unexpectedly, looking up at him.

Matt was taken off guard. "I - er, I suppose? Some? What's lots?"

"Can you count them all one one hand?"

"No..."

"Then that's lots."

"What if there were no girls to count, then I couldn't count them on one hand, then, could I?"

Karen took the cigarette from him and had another draw before replying. "Don't believe that."

"Fair cop, fair cop," Matt agreed, "nobody's pure anymore, are they? Everyone's properly quiet about it, but everybody's doing it."

"Not me," Karen answered quietly, glancing up at him. "I'm not."

Okay. It wasn't unusual for a twenty-year-old girl to be a virgin (it was expected she was if unmarried, but it just wasn't that straightforward anymore) but he really had not anticipated Karen would be. She was far too plucky, so confident in her own skin.

"You're not ... you don't act like a virgin."

She frowned at him. "How's a virgin supposed to act?"

Matt paused. He took another drag to buy time, then dropped it outside the window. That was a good question. He didn't know. He was saved from having to answer that when Karen decided to keep talking.

"It's not fair, really," she said, smoothing her purple skirt over her thigh, "if boys know you've not done it, they sort of drift off and find a girl who'll put out and pay her attention instead. But they think she's a slag and make jokes about her. You can't win. So I just let people think what they want to think."

"Not all blokes are like that."

"Yes, they are, because they're afraid the girls who won't put out will be too much trouble, and it's not worth it if they're not getting something out of her."

"Some blokes want a nice bird, Karen."

"Only if they can have a not-so-nice one in the meantime. And how is that fair anyway? A bloke sleeps about and it's allowed but if a girl does it she's got a bad reputation."

Matt shook his head slightly. "But it's not like that everywhere Karen, only in your posh circles. I know loads of girls who put out and have a good time - _their way_ , they do it cos they want to - and nobody's got a problem with them. Some of them have got boyfriends and everything."

"I'm not a posh bird."

He smiled. "Yes, you are."

She was still paying meticulous attention to the smoothing of her skirt. "You don't have to go out with me on Saturday now. If you thought ... you know."

"I'm still taking you out."

"And you don't have to because you feel sorry for me."

"Karen." He put his hand to her cheek and turned her face toward his. "I want to take you out Saturday."

Karen had a bee in her bonnet about the situation and didn't want to let it go. Matt knew she was upset and shaken. He hoped she wouldn't regret divulging everything to him in the morning. He didn't care if she was a virgin. She was definitely shaggable but he wasn't taking her out for that reason alone; he wanted to get to know her. The notorious track record he had with birds existed because he'd never liked any one girl as much as he liked Karen. And if she turned out to be too much work like the rest ... then so be it. He wasn't going to let the fact that she was a virgin come in the way of figuring out their potential together. Perhaps it would actually work in his favour.

"See the thing is," Karen continued, unable to stop herself, "I've not been waiting cos I want to get married. I've not been waiting cos I want to be in love ... I just never met anyone I wanted to do it with before. That's it. I'm not - "

"Karen." Matt kissed the top of her head. "Stop. You're not going to scare me off, all right? I don't care. I'm not taking you out because I just wanted a shag. Not that I wouldn't mind ... look at you, you're gorgeous ... but I am allowed to take you out just to get to know you, right? Will you let me do that?"

She looked uncertain, as if she couldn't believe that he wasn't a sex fiend. Matt could hardly blame her. She'd told him what Sam had said to her. He'd made her feel she'd led him on ... she was probably frightened she'd done the same to Matt and decided to lay everything on the line. This was complicated, but it was not the hard work he loathed with most girls. They played games. Karen was being brutally honest.

He kissed her head again and murmured softly to her. "I'm going to take you out. We'll have dinner somewhere. We'll get to know one another and if we still like each other, we'll do it again. And after we've been out lots of times, if you decide maybe you want to try it with me ... then okay. It's not like what it was with him."

"I know that," Karen said, a huffy edge to her voice. Yet she looked calmer, relieved by his acceptance. "I'm a virgin, I'm not stupid."

They laughed. It was growing steadily darker outside, long shadows falling across the park opposite. "I should get you home," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed, sounding glum at the prospect. She sat forward and studied her make-up in the rearview mirror. Karen reached into her handbag to make some adjustments and clean up the streaks. 

"...sure you won't tell your Mum and Dad?"

She shook her head; resolute.

"I can pick you up tomorrow, if you like."

Karen shook her head and shot him a quick smile. "No. Thank you. I'm okay."

He watched her fixing her make-up in silence for a little while. "Have you got a pen?"

"Yes, why?"

"Swap numbers. Just in case."

"All right." Karen took out a little notepad and pen, flipping back the pages until she got a blank one. She wrote down her phone number and signed her name underneath. Matt took the pad from her, tore off the page and put it in his pocket, then penned his on the next.

"Mrs. Shaw might answer - she's my landlady. Live in a bedsit in Shepherd's Bush."

"Is it nice?"

"Yeah. It is. Small, but it's nice."

"Oh that's nice then," Karen replied as she tucked the pen and paper away, not noticing their circular conversation. She put her hand over the gearstick and wiggled her fingers. 

She certainly looked better, but he just did not know her well enough to tell how she was coping. He supposed the extent of what had happened would hit her later. Matt started the car and laid his hand over hers.

"Call me any time," he said, eyes on the road as he pulled away from the curb. "I mean that. Promise me?"

"Promise."

Karen's house was an expensive-looking, two-storied affair surrounded by a green box hedge. There was a wooden gate at the driveway and another, smaller gate cut into the centre. 

"What does your old man _do?_ "

"Um, he's a dental surgeon."

"I'm in the wrong business." He gave a low whistle and glanced at Karen, laughing. He cut the engine. "Well."

She suddenly leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Thank you - I dunno what I would've done without you. I really don't. You saved me."

Her gratitude made him uncomfortable. He felt a blush colouring his cheeks. "Anyone would've."

"But it wasn't anyone. It was you." 

Karen kissed him again - but this time, she went for his lips. She was full of surprises - nice girls waited to be kissed! Karen was fearless; she didn't fit into any category that he knew. Matt took her face in his hands as he returned the kiss, slow and warm. It was the sort of kiss that usually - for him - came _later_. It was safe. Intimate. He wanted more; he wanted to sit here all night and just kiss her, explore the taste of her, the feel the softness of her lips. He couldn't remember a first kiss quite like it. When Karen pulled away he felt slightly dazed.

"Now it's the night I kissed you."

She let herself out the car. A second later the door slammed and she was gone, hurrying to the gate and letting herself beyond the green hedge without so much as a backwards glance. It took Matt a minute to start the car up again - his eyes were fixed on the gate, willing her to return. His lips were tingling. 

"Well. This is new."


	8. (Sh-boom Sh-boom)

Her parents weren't fooled. 

Karen always came in to see them before she went upstairs. She knew that one look at her would tell them something was amiss, so she tried to dodge seeing them before she could put the pieces of herself back together. Karen went directly up to her bedroom, calling out hello. She dropped her bag on the middle of her bed, grabbed a few things and shut herself inside the bathroom. Her fingers shook as she undressed. 

It had been so close. _So_ close. Her shoulder ached at the joint from where Sam had pulled it, applying that acute pressure which had caused her so much agony. She moved carefully so as not to aggravate it. Her cheek hurt too - a faint shadow of a bruise was beginning to develop and she prayed to a God she hardly believed in that it would go down tomorrow, or at least disappear beneath a layer or two of make-up. She touched it gingerly. Winced.

Karen jumped as she heard brisk knocking at the door. Her mother was on the other side, calling her name.

"Karen! Are you all right?"

She looked over her shoulder and then refocused on the mirror, frowning at her reflection. "Yes!" She called back. "I just -" think! " - spent all day in the storeroom, I'm covered in dust ... I feel filthy."

"Something's the matter, Karen, I can tell!"

"Mum, I'm fine!" Karen called back, crossly. She turned on the shower taps and peeled off her underwear. "I'll be down for tea in a minute!"

Her mother's voice sounded uncertain, carrying just over the running water. "...I've kept a couple of sausages for you ..."

"Okay!" Karen answered briskly, and yanked the shower curtain shut. The rings clacked together. She hoped her mother would get the hint and started to count to thirty, just to be sure that she was no longer standing on the other side of the door. 

She made it to twenty-seven before she started to sob.

Karen stood beneath a hot stream of water. Her hands pressed hard against her mouth as she tried to muffle any sounds that might be overhead. It didn't work very well and strange, primal noises escaped her, bouncing off the tiles. She stood that way for a few long minutes. Karen let out everything she had bottled up in Matt's car. A few tears had escaped, quietly, in the car ... but she was confident he'd not noticed them. He had been driving, after all. He looked good driving. Sexy. 

She gave herself a shake and rubbed her hands over her face, smearing her heavy make-up. The soap was palmed and then fiercely scrubbed across her body to develop a big lather. She tried to scrub the smell of Sam, the touch, the memory of him off her body, sniffling as she worked. So close. It had been so close ... Matt had come just in time ...

Karen washed her hair and remained in the cubicle until she was confident that she was a bit more in control of herself. She was proud not to have cried in front of Matt; proud to have escaped her parents before she was able to sort herself out. She was ashamed of her vulnerability, the ease with which Sam was able to overpower her. She did not think she would ever recover from the scare.

By the time she was out of the shower, face scoured of make-up, she felt much better. Shaky, but better. She wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Unfortunately, her parents still had to be faced, and their suspicions were running high. She changed into her nightgown and robe and padded downstairs.

She stopped when she hit the bottom. Took a deep breath. Yes, it had been horrible, unthinkable ... but that wasn't how she intended to remember tonight. Something else had happened tonight ... something so very good, something wonderful. She'd kissed Matt. She touched her fingers to her lips and smiled at the memory. For a long moment she stood there, concentrating on storing up her recollections so she could uncork and relive them over and again. The faint, lasting smell of aftershave. The creak of the vinyl seats, cigarette smoke clinging to the ceiling. If she was going to get through tonight, _this_ was what she had to concentrate on - not what Sam had done to her.

Her father was in the living room, comfortable in his chair before the television. She lingered in the doorway. "Hi, Dad."

"Hello, love. How was your day?"

"Busy. Spent - spent most of it in the storeroom. Filing. Got really dirty," she lied, hoping she wasn't overdoing it.

He beckoned to her. "Give us a kiss."

She smiled and came forward, dropping a quick kiss to her father's cheek. The only light in the living room came from the TV lamp and the glow of the box itself. Her father squeezed her arm.

"Your mother's taking your supper out the oven."

"Okay. Did you have a good day?"

Her father nodded, his attention returning to the telly. Karen wondered what her father would do if he knew what had occurred: would he think she was to blame? Karen was afraid she was. Teased him, that's what Sam had said. 

She pushed the thoughts firmly from her mind and headed for the kitchen. She'd kissed Matt. In his car. He was going to take her out Saturday; everything was good and fine. 

Karen's mother saw what her father had missed, whether by inattention or low light. She set a plate on the table. The sausages, mashed potatoes, carrots and mushy peas were congealing. They had been in the oven on a low heat, waiting too long for her to come home. Karen sat and picked up her cutlery. She wondered how she was going to make herself eat anything.

"Karen, your face!" Her mother's warm hand lifted her chin. She could smell her moisturizer. "What happened?!"

"I pulled down some folders, and one fell on me," Karen replied, surprised at her quick lie. "It hurt."

Her mother was turning her head gently, taking in the bruise. "Looks sore. Is it sore?"

"It's okay," Karen answered. She forced herself to eat food which tasted of nothing.

 

 

Later that evening, Karen sat on the centre of her single bed with her knees tucked up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them, the pale pink cotton of her nightie stretched tight over her legs. Her bedroom was a work in progress, transitioning between a teenager and an adult's space. The bed with its quilted covers pressed against the far wall, running underneath one of the two sash windows. Patterned lace hung from them, scalloped blinds pulled down against the night. On the table beside the bed was a tasseled lamp, casting a rosy light over the flowery rug, the wardrobe with her collection of stickers running down the side, the low bookshelf stacked with old novels school had set and ornaments. 

Karen got up when the record clicked off. She had been playing the same song on loop for the last thirty or so minutes, softly so as not to disturb her father downstairs. It was Connie Francis' _Who's Sorry Now?_ and seemed to be the only song which fit her present state of mind. The record player was on the chest of drawers at the end of her bed. She picked up the arm and gently dropped the needle at the beginning of the record for another play.

Idly, she turned her attention from the record player. She examined the sleeve, turning it in her hands. She laid it down. She touched the things that were hers, strewn around the record player. A handheld mirror she'd owned since she was little - the one with the white bear holding a balloon on the back. Her copy of _With the Beatles_. Hairpins. Listless, she turned to the bookshelf and trailed her fingernails against the spines of books she no longer read, turning from them in favour of magazines. It all seemed foolish. These stupid things she owned, this stupid, girly, poor little rich girl life. Karen opened her wardrobe and touched the clothes she had purchased with such care and loved so much. 

Karen was always so sure of what she felt, in control of her thoughts and feelings. Tonight, she had no idea what she felt. If she could use any word to describe it, then it would be hollow. She wanted to think about Matt and the kiss in the car, but Sam kept coming back to haunt her instead.

"Karen! Phone!"

She frowned. It was eight-thirty. It was unusual for Karen to receive calls at this hour. She came downstairs and took the receiver from her mother's hand. "It's a man," she whispered, "says it's Mr. Smith."

Mr...? _Oh!_ Karen took the phone from her mother and pressed it to her breast, waiting for her to leave. The phone sat on a low table with a cushioned seat attached to it, against one wall in the hallway. She leaned forward to peer down it - her mother was gone.

"Hello?"

"Are both your parents Scottish?"

"Are both your parents English?"

Matt laughed. "Fair enough."

"Are you checking up on me?" Karen asked, sitting down and pressing her knees together. Despite her suspicious tone she felt good. The hollow, empty sensation was abating. The sound of his voice was enough to bring back the feelings from the car.

"Ahh... no? I'm calling to see if you had ... this week's Melody Maker ..."

"You're checking up on me."

"Yeah. I'm checking up on you. Is that okay?"

"I suppose. You didn't have to do that."

"Wanted to," Matt answered. He sounded like he was smoking - there was a certain strain to his voice when he spoke whilst inhaling. "Did you tell them?"

She turned the cord around her fingers. "No. Said I was in the storeroom all day and a file fell on my face."

"Did they buy it?"

"Yeah."

"You kissed me."

"I did," Karen replied, smiling.

"I didn't expect that."

"Do girls always do what you expect?"

"Well ... I usually have a pretty good idea of what's going to happen."

"But not tonight."

"Not tonight, no." He laughed down the line. His voice then took on a more serious edge. "There's something I didn't say in the car. None of this was your fault, Karen. There's nothing anyone could do to deserve that."

"I know," Karen answered, though she had been thinking the opposite for the last hour. 

"...okay. Just as long as you know that. You did nothing wrong."

She could feel the emotions crawling to form a hard knot in her throat. If he kept going like this, she was going to fall to bits again. "I know. I can't talk - not right now."

"Right," he said swiftly, perhaps hearing the tension in her voice. "Sure you don't want me to pick you up tomorrow? I don't mind."

"No. Honestly. I want to go to work normally."

"What time do you get in the office?"

"Eight-thirty. Why?"

"I was just wondering. Okay. I'd better let you get on with your night," Matt said. "Call me if you can't sleep or something."

Karen couldn't wipe the silly smile off her face. "Okay."

"Oh and Karen?"

"Yeah?"

"If that's how you kiss ..." he left the flirtatious implication open for a few seconds. Chuckled. "See you tomorrow. Good night."

"Night," Karen whispered into the receiver long after the line had gone dead.

Just like that, her mood swung to the other end of the spectrum. She replaced the receiver in its cradle and walked up the stairs in a kind of daze. The record had ended by the time she got back to her room. Unable to stop smiling, she put away Connie Francis and hunted in her alphabetised pile of albums for one by the Crew Cuts. The album had been a present from Santa in her tenth year. She placed the needle gently on the record.

_Oh, life could be a dream (sh-boom)_  
If I could take you up in paradise up above (sh-boom)  
If you would tell me I'm the only one that you love  
Life could be a dream, sweetheart  
(Hello, hello again, sh-boom and hopin' we'll meet again) 

She giggled at the song and its upbeat, cheerful new meaning. Karen turned off her lamp and crawled into bed, listening to the song play out. She bent her arm beneath the pillow. The horror of her encounter with Sam had melted away in the wake of Matt's phone call. 

He was _cool._ He was the coolest man she'd ever met. His long hair, his drainpipe trousers, his easy manner. She remembered the scent of his aftershave and felt her heart do a little somersault behind her ribs. She'd never liked _anyone_ this much, not even when she went through her big Billy Fury phase a few years ago. Karen grinned into her pillow and fell asleep shortly after the record finished spinning.

 

 

Come the following morning, however, she felt less sunny. She had agreed to tell Mr. Baker what had happened ... and it filled her with dread. It had been awful relating the story to Matt and he had been there for half of it. Mr. Baker was nice but their relationship was strictly professional. The idea of telling him something so personal made her feel wobbly inside.

She chose a white, frill-collared dress with black polka dots. It was Mary Quant and one of her absolute favourites - she felt more confident just feeling the material against her skin. Her heart beat very hard as she walked into the office. Last night was fresh in her mind. She fixed her eyes on the executive offices, determined not to falter. She passed the tea-room and Lulu's empty desk. Karen faced her own.

Slowly, she walked by it and peered into Mr. Baker's office. He was not in yet. There was no sign of the struggle the night prior. 

"Good morning."

Karen wheeled around. Matt was standing there, jacket off, cup of tea in hand. She glanced down the hallway. He'd been waiting, she realised. He had asked her on the phone what time she would be in ... so he could get there first. He sipped tea and then placed the cup on her desk.

"Hi," she said, once she rediscovered her voice. "Did you ..."

"Is that okay?"

She smiled and dipped her head in a little nod. "Yeah."

"Are ... are you still going to tell Mr. Baker?"

"Um ... yeah." She put her handbag in the lowest drawer. "I'll ... let him get settled in. Tell him around ten I guess."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Karen pressed her fingertips against the desk top. She had fully intended to do this alone. Now she was sure that was impossible. "Could you?"

"Course," he replied, glancing down the hallway. He stepped close and ran his hand lightly down her arm until his fingers entwined with hers. "We'll get it sorted. I'll come up at ten."

Matt pressed his lips to the back of her hand. It was a brief, clandestine kiss, but it gave her more confidence than she could possibly have imagined. He stepped away and pointed at the tea. "That's for you."

She tried and failed not to grin. When she looked back at Matt he was leaving, throwing her a quick smile as he went.

Karen got started. She took the cover off her Royal and carefully folded it up. The tea Matt made had too much milk but she drank it anyway, grateful for the gesture. Mr. Baker arrived at ten past nine, strolling briskly into his office while she was on the telephone. Karen looked at the little clock on her desk. Ten. She'd go in at ten. Meanwhile, those letters weren't going to type themselves. 

She had completed half a page of typing when Mr. Delgado approached her desk. He was with somebody. Her stomach gave a sick little lurch when she saw that it was Sam Vincent. He would not so much as look her way, preferring to straighten the cuffs of his shirt while Mr. Delgado spoke to Karen.

"No need to phone us in, Miss. Gillan." He knocked swiftly on the door and both he and Sam disappeared inside. Karen stared at the page in front of her. Her fingers hovered uncertainly over the keys. When Mr. Davison passed and _also_ entered Mr. Baker's office the sick feeling intensified. She felt as though she had a separate heartbeat in her belly. Karen twisted in her seat and looked at the closed door. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

 

 

Matt put down his pencil at twenty to ten. He hadn't seen Sam all morning - hardly surprising. He was probably at home, nursing his bruised face and pride. Matt only wished he had given him more bruises to pander over.

"Sam not in today?" He asked the junior architect at the desk bordering his.

Dan, who looked grateful for a quick chat to break up the morning, started twirling his pencil. "Yeah, he is. Saw him."

"What d'you mean, he's not been at his desk. I've been here since eight."

"He came up in the lift with me. Only, he was getting off next floor up. Said he had to talk to Delgado about something."

A cold, crawling sensation rippled over Matt's skin. He immediately forgot the rest of his work and walked as swiftly as he could without attracting attention. He took the stairs two at a time. He found Karen standing outside Mr. Baker's office, pale and stunned.

"What's he doing in there?" Matt asked, casting a look at the office door. It was closed.

Karen finally noticed him. "I just got fired."

" _What?!_ "

"I ..." she seemed to be in shock, "I ... Sam said he caught me going through the office ... stealing things. I was so ... I couldn't even speak."

"Did you tell them what happened?" Matt said furiously. He was stunned at the development, angry that Sam had managed to turn it around on them. "Did you tell them?"

Karen pressed her lips together. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. "I _couldn't._ It's all of them. _Both_ Mr. Bakers. Mr. Delgado. And _him_. I couldn't ... they were all looking at me. I _couldn't_."

He stared at her for a few seconds. Matt could hardly believe they had all gotten in on it, cornered her, unknowingly taking the side of her would-be-rapist. Small wonder she had been unable to defend herself. She was shocked speechless over the accusation. The pressure of confessing something so brutal was too much for her ... and they had taken her silence as admission of guilt. He made up his mind in an instant. Matt snatched her wrist and pulled her along. They barged into the office without knocking.

The second Mr. Baker, Karen's boss, was seated behind his desk. The first Mr. Baker (Matt's boss) was on the sofa, legs crossed, smoking pensively. Mr. Davison was beside him, reclining with one arm stretched along the back. Before the window stood Mr. Delgado and Sam sat in one of the two chairs facing Mr. Baker's desk. They all turned, mouths open in shock, as Matt pushed in and shut the door tight. 

"Smith, this is hardly - "

"You didn't hear the true story," Matt interrupted Mr. Davison. He could hear the tension in his voice. He needed to keep a lid of his anger or he'd be thrown out and fired before he could get them anywhere. "I was here last night too."

The first Mr. Baker glanced at Sam. _He smells a rat,_ Matt thought with a rush of relief which fuelled his confidence. He was sharp, his boss, and he knew Matt and Sam better than any of the others. 

"Were you. Sit down, Vincent," he answered with mild reproach. He waited until Sam was reseated and gestured at Matt. "Go on, Smith."

Matt looked back at Karen. She looked desperately uncomfortable. He got the impression that were he not still holding her wrist she would've scarpered by now. He raised his eyebrows at Karen, prompting her into taking over.

"Tell them," he encouraged.

"Why didn't you speak up before?" The second Mr. Baker asked from behind his desk, annoyed. "You had a chance to say your side of it."

"It's slightly more delicate than that," Matt said, voice taut. He softened it to address Karen again. "Don't let him get away with it."

Mr. Delgado came away from the window. "Tell me," he said, injecting a warmth into his voice he only used when speaking to female staff. He smiled at Karen. "Pretend it's just me you have to tell. Give up that chair, Vincent - we'll just sit over there and chat, all right?"

He led Karen over to the two chairs, seating Karen in one of them. He pulled his to face her. That left Sam standing awkwardly off to one side. When Matt met his eye he looked young and very afraid.

Karen explained what had happened quietly, haltingly. It made something inside of Matt ache to see her so vulnerable. He crossed his arms and brushed his lips with his fingers, glancing around at the four men on whose shoulders Karen's fate rested. She wasn't crying; he was so proud of her. Her defense and counter accusation was nervous ... but strong.

In the end, Sam undid himself. Karen touched her cheek and told of how he had struck her.

"You hit me first!" Sam exclaimed.

The atmosphere in the room changed. Everyone slowly shifted their gaze to Sam, who realised far too late what he had said. If Karen did not have them all believing her before then she did now. Mr. Delgado softly prompted Karen to go on. The two Mr. Bakers and Mr. Davison had their attention focused on Sam now, their eyes hard. They hung on Karen's every word.

Matt took over once he came into the story. "I'd left. But as I went down in the lift I thought I'd see if it was Karen upstairs and offer her a ride home. I heard her saying, 'please stop'. Sam had her pinned on the sofa," he pointed, "and I pulled him off her. We fought. I left him on the floor and took Karen home."

"Did you go to the police?" The second Mr. Baker asked, his manner kinder than before. 

Karen shook her head. "No. I didn't want to. But I thought ..."

Mr. Delgado patted her knee. "You've done the right thing."

The first Mr. Baker stubbed out his cigarette. His gaze pierced Sam. "Well, Vincent. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It's a lie. She was teasing me for weeks. She wanted to - she just got funny when Smith showed up."

"I heard her screaming!" Matt snapped, his temper dangerously close to the boil.

"Screaming?" Mr. Davison asked.

"He had her arm pressed up behind her back," Matt explained. "He was hurting her."

The first Mr. Baker sat forward. "Which part is the lie, Vincent? The part where you said she was stealing, or the part where she said you forced her?"

Sam's story had unravelled but he was the last to grasp that. "I - no, she - "

"It's just funny, really," Mr. Baker continued, softly, "how you caught her stealing, and then you still wanted to seduce her?"

"I've heard enough," the second Mr. Baker snapped. "Telephone the police, they can deal with this."

Karen sat up. "I really - please, I don't want to do that."

Mr. Delgado touched her knee. "It ought to go to the police, dear. This is potentially very serious."

"I just want it to be over," Karen insisted, twisting her hands together in her lap. She looked mortified.

The two Mr. Bakers and Mr. Davison glanced at one another, coming to a silent accord. Matt knew they had worked together a very long time. He had seen them make decisions like this before. Those decisions, however, were normally over plans and contracts.

"You're dismissed, Vincent," the first Mr. Baker briskly informed him. "Clean out your desk."

Sam gaped at them. "I - what?"

"Dismissed!" Mr. Baker rose. Even Matt wanted to flinch back from that roar. He had never seen Mr. Baker lose his temper before. He stood and crossed to Karen, tipping back her head. "She's done quite a good job with her makeup. Look here, Roger, you can see the bruise." To Karen, he said. "I'm sorry. It should not have happened like this."

Sam pointed at Matt. "He attacked me because he was jealous, what are you going to do to him?!"

This time it was the second Mr. Baker who stood. "He gets his pay docked for not throwing you out the bloody window! What are you still doing here? Dismissed!"

That was enough for Sam. He was out the door in seconds, flushed red and looking very close to tears. 

It went very quiet in the office for a few moments.

"Thank you, Smith," the first Mr. Baker said, straightening his jacket. 

The three men exchanged glances again. The second Mr. Baker nodded at Delgado.

"We'd like to offer your job back, Miss Gillan," Delgado said with an encouraging little smile. 

"No."

 _Nobody_ expected that. Matt stared as Karen slowly rose. A change had come over her, a previously untapped reservoir of strength bolstering her courage. She looked like Karen again, he realised, he looked like the girl he had flirted with in the stationery room. The fear was gone.

"You can stuff your job. Four of ganged up on me. Four of you, on one of me. I was terrified. You weren't even interested in my side of the story until Matt came in. I don't even think you would've believed me if not for him. Why would I want to work for _any_ of you?" She let that hang in the air, looking around at each of them in turn. Her tone was steady, calm. "I can do so much better."

Karen walked out, head held high.

Matt looked at the others in shock. They looked at one another and back at him. She had robbed them one and all of speech. Karen had been so meek, so utterly in awe of them, well-mannered and behaved. Yet somewhere ... somewhere along the line, she had found her spirit. She'd done it again - her unpredictability was off the charts! 

"Attention everybody!"

Her voice rang out from the offices beyond. In unison, the five men left inside Mr. Baker's office hurried out. Karen was standing in the centre of the open space before the tea-room. She had gathered quite an audience.

"This morning, I have been fired, rehired, and then I fired myself. No! I fired the _company._ You're all going to hear a lot of talk in the next few days so allow me to set the record straight. _That one_ ," she extended her arm, pointing at Sam who was skulking by the stairs and tried to duck out of view, "will try to make you if you say no. And _that_ one," she pointed at Matt, paused, smiled. "I defy any girl who'd say no to him."

Karen slung her bag over her shoulder and strode out. Confused bodies parted for her. Lulu or Sarah was laughing and at his elbow, he heard the second Mr. Baker say, "Give her a good reference, Roger."

Matt ran after her. He caught up while she was waiting for the lift. She was flushed with victory and her eyes were sparkling. 

"You're mad. You're absolutely bonkers," he breathed. He swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply. He was in awe of her, stunned by her rebellion. She fascinated him. 

The lift pinged and the doors rolled open. Karen broke the kiss and stepped back into the lift. He grabbed the doors before they could close.

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know!" She was laughing.

"I want to see you after work."

"I'll be at the Twelve O'Clock cafe. It's in Soho - on Broadwick Street."

"You're mad! You know you're mad, don't you?"

Karen took his face in her hands. He could feel them trembling - so she was not as brave as she seemed. She kissed his lips. "Thank you," she said earnestly. She stepped away and the doors closed. He watched the dial above the lift descending lower, floor by floor.

"I liked her."

Matt turned to see the second Mr. Baker standing just beyond. He dragged his fingers through his springy, blonde hair. "She didn't give me carrot juice like Miss Langford. What will she do now?"

"She said she didn't know."

"Tell her she's always got a job here if she wants to come back. Brave girl. Tell her I'm sorry."

Matt's answer was far bolder than what would've been wise under ordinary circumstances. "You could phone her yourself."

Mr. Baker gave him a sour look but he made no comment. Perhaps he felt he deserved that. "You should've thrown him out the bloody window," he repeated, and left.

Matt headed down to his own floor. This had been the most unusual twenty-four hours of his life. He got the feeling that if he was going to start spending a lot of time with Karen, he might need to get used to that. He'd never met anyone quite like her.


	9. Motor Town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of Scottish slang in this one ... to 'greet' or 'greeting' is slang for 'crying.' Jsyk. :)

There was only one place Karen could go and it wasn't home. Her mind was made up even before she left the building, striding down the footpath with resounding clicks of her heels. Karen walked two streets over and waited at the bus stop, fumbling with her bag to pull out two small, white gloves. She put the first one on the wrong hand. She tugged it off and drew it on to the right hand, laughing nervously. Karen used her teeth to do up the buttons, wary of the delicate lace eyelets.

She found a spare seat upstairs on her bus. Sunglasses were slipped over her eyes and she leaned her temple against the glass, trying to let her mind go blank. Regret, surprisingly, did not surface. Her heart ached that she had given up something she loved so much - she _had_ loved the lifestyle, and thought herself a good fit. However, when she thought of the way the four men - and Sam - had cornered her, her blood began to boil. Karen knew she had not deserved that kind of treatment ... it was like the Spanish bloody Inquisition! She had done the only thing she could've if she ever intended on looking in the mirror again.

It didn't make her feel much better, though.

She found herself in front of the Twelve O'Clock in a kind of a daze. Karen didn't remember the journey from Islington to Soho, didn't even remember getting off the bus and walking to the cafe. Her hand turned the door handle and made the chimes jingle overhead. A wave of Motown music crested over her as she stepped into the cooler air and walked up to the unattended counter. Nobody was here. Perhaps she'd dreamed everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Then Mr. Capaldi emerged from the tiny kitchen, dusting down the front of his black roll-neck skivvy. He stopped and frowned in confusion when he saw her.

"Karen! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at work!"

That was it.

She crumbled. Her face dropped into her hands and splashed mascara over her pretty white gloves. Karen stood in the centre of the cafe with her shoulders shaking and great, unstoppable sobs flowing out of her. She wouldn't cry in front of her parents, or the bosses, or Matt ... but Mr. Capaldi was different. 

After the initial shockwave passed, Mr. Capaldi came around the counter and pulled her into a tight embrace. Her sobs grew worse. Karen's hurt, confusion, horror and disappointment was finally, properly, set free. She could keep it to herself for only so long.

"Oh my god, what's wrong?!" Jenna appeared from one of the back rooms, balancing a tray of tea-things. 

"Jenna, mind the cafe," Mr. Capaldi said over Karen's shoulder. "Bring tea."

Jenna nodded quickly. She touched Karen's shoulder as Mr. Capaldi led her beyond the counter and through to the little kitchen. Not many things were made in there, since the cakes and pies were prepared elsewhere. Sandwiches were put together on the counter in the mornings and the crockery washed up. That was about the extent of its use. The rear door to the laneway running behind the cafe was propped open to allow fresh air in. A small, round table was set near it - Mr. Capaldi's smoking table, with its heavy handmade clay ashtray as centerpiece. He sat Karen down on one of the chairs and pulled over a second to sit right beside her. His arm remained around her shoulders. 

"There's a good lass. Let it all out. We'll put things right, hey?"

When Jenna delivered two cups of steaming hot tea a few minutes later, Karen had most of her sobs out. She leaned against Mr. Capaldi's shoulder with her hand at her mouth, sniffling. She had barely slept and her mind was sick with worry. It was exhaustingly therapeutic to share it.

"That a bit better?" Mr. Capaldi asked, rubbing her arm. 

Karen nodded, miserable.

"Let me look at you." He smiled fondly at her tear-streaked face and pulled a red handkerchief out of his pocket. He cleaned up her tears and dabbed underneath her eyes. "It's clean, I promise. Have some tea while it's hot. It'll do you good."

She nodded again and reached for the closest teacup. Her hands shook. Mr. Capaldi steadied her wrists as she blew ripples across the surface of the tea and took a little sip. 

"It's too hot."

"Give it a minute, then." He helped her put it back down. 

Karen looked down at her hands. She saw spots of mascara on the lace and started trying to take them off without undoing the little buttons. She peeled them away, inside-out. "I ruined them."

"It'll come out in the wash."

"No, it won't."

"Okay, maybe not. See I've got the right idea wearing black all the time. I can get make-up all over myself and no one'll ever know."

She laughed a little. Blew her nose in his handkerchief. Tried the tea again, swallowing a few scalding mouthfuls. And then she began to talk.

Telling Mr. Capaldi was easier than Matt or Mr. Delgado. She wasn't in awe of him - she loved him like he was family, and felt more at home in his cafe then she did in her own house. She told him everything, starting with how Sam had been hanging around her and her decision to go out with Matt. The more she talked, the more the weight against her heart began to ease. Her situation began to seem manageable rather than a time bomb ticking in tune with her pulse, waiting to explode.

Mr. Capaldi ruffled her hair when she finished. He was laughing. "And you walked out. That's my girl. No taking shit from anybody. You did right."

She smiled up at him. "I'm glad you said that."

"And this Matthew fellow sounds like quite a catch," Mr. Capaldi teased her.

Karen finished the last of her tea. "He's going to come here after he finishes work. You'll like him. He's really cool."

"Cooler than me?"

"Nobody's cooler than you, Mr. Capaldi."

Mr. Capaldi laughed a little. It almost sounded normal; but Karen heard a tension in it she did not recognise. "You haven't told your Mum and Dad, have you."

"No."

"You'll have to tell them tonight."

"No. I worked it all out. I'm going to keep leaving every day and like I'm still working until I find another job."

"Karen..."

"If they find out what happened I don't think they'll let me work anymore," Karen replied, resolute. "And if I make up a reason for leaving ... no. I'm not giving my father the satisfaction."

"Your parents love you, Karen. Be fair."

"I know they do. And I love them too, but ... I need this. You don't know what it's like."

He cleared his throat. "I know I wouldn't like my daughter lying to me as much as you lie to your father."

She couldn't stand his disapproval; she needed him on her side. "Please, Mr. Capaldi." 

Mr. Capaldi rubbed his mouth. He didn't like it, she could tell. "I'll ask around for you. I might know someone with an opening. Wouldn't be in an office, mind, would shop work suit you any?"

"Yes! That would be ... thank you!"

"Right. I'll see what I can come up with then." Mr. Capaldi stood up. "...you look terrible, by the way."

Karen laughed and coughed. "Thanks!"

"I mean that. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"...not very much."

He hesitated, frowning. Mr. Capaldi leaned a little closer. It took her a second to realise he was studying the bruise, which was probably more pronounced now she had cried away a good deal of powder. She quickly looked at her lap and hoped he would stop looking.

"You're welcome to hang about here all day if you don't feel like going out. I can give you a few jobs to do." His voice was strangely tight again; almost unrecognisable. 

She brightened. "Yes. Please."

He glanced around. From a bottom shelf he pulled out a cardboard box filled with paper serviettes. Mr. Capaldi showed her how he liked them folded and gave her a basket to put them into once done. He told her to take her time with the job and provided her with another cup of tea and cake of the day - orange poppy seed.

The day passed with surprising swiftness. Karen folded serviettes, drank tea, ate cake. She and Jenna went for lunch together and Karen gave her an abridged version of the story. She felt better for having it out, but she wasn't ready to discuss it candidly. Jenna understood and turned the bulk of her attention toward Matt. She had a million questions. Karen couldn't answer most of them. It seemed there was a lot about Matt she didn't know.

Her exhaustion finally caught up with her in the afternoon. It was mental, physical, emotional. She fell asleep on the old red sofa in the smallest room, the one crammed with odd bits of living room suites to create a strangely comfortable smoking room. Mr. Capaldi put a tablecloth over her legs in place of a blanket and closed the door. 

 

 

Matt arrived at half past five. He glanced around the cafe. It was quite funky. A few people sat at tables by the windows, smoking and reading. 

"You've got to be Matthew Smith, haven't you."

He looked at the counter. Beside high glass domes of cakes and sponge fingers was a young woman with brown hair teased up into a beehive. It added several inches to her height. She had one hand pressed to her hip. She grinned at him.

"Er ... yeah. How'd you know?"

"Karen was very detailed."

"Oh. Is she here..?"

Jenna pressed her lips together uncertainly. "Yeah, but ... before you do ... I'm not allowed to let you in yet. _Mr. Capaldi!_ " She called without taking her eyes off Matt. 

"That doesn't sound good," Matt said, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

"Cup of tea?"

"Nah ... nah I'm good, thanks ...."

"I'm Jenna."

A slender, gaunt man with grey hair came in from deeper in the cafe, which seemed to go quite far back. He looked to be in his forties and dressed all in black; skivvy, trousers, shoes. He stubbed out his cigarette in a ceramic ashtray as he briskly approached Matt, hand extended. He almost broke Matt's fingers as he grasped his hand.

"Peter Capaldi."

"Matt Smith."

"This is my cafe."

"Oh, it's very ... very nice," Matt managed to say. He tried not to flex his fingers too obviously when Capaldi finally released them.

"Aye," the other man's eyes were burning into him. It was pretty scary, actually. The intensity in his eyes was discomforting. At least he was direct; and got to what was infuriating him quickly. "Thanks for what you did for Karen. Her father doesn't know. I'm saying it on behalf of him."

"Oh, she told you - "

"Yes, she told me," Capaldi snapped. 

"Customers, Mr. Capaldi," Jenna murmured in a sing-song as she wiped down the counter.

He seemed to have forgotten them. He shot the occupied table a quick glance and beckoned to Matt. "Come with me. Please."

Matt didn't know if he should. This guy seemed _mad_. What the hell had Karen told him, surely he'd not done anything to deserve this? He looked to Jenna, who gave him a reassuring little nod and smile. At least someone would know what happened to him if he mysteriously disappeared. He followed Capaldi through a small kitchen. There was a pair of lace gloves turned inside-out on a table near the door, and a basket of poorly folded serviettes. Capaldi took him into the laneway.

"Who the fuck was this guy, where does he live and where the fuck can I find him right now?"

He reeled. Okay. Capaldi wasn't angry with him ... he was fuming over Sam. He fumbled for words in the face of such sudden aggression. "I, uh ..."

"I would've thrown him out the fuckin' window if I'd been there!"

Why did everyone keep saying that?

"I would've punched him into next fuckin' Thursday! I want to know where I can find this cock and you're gonna fuckin' tell me. That lassie in there is like a fuckin' daughter to me and I'm no havin' some cunt gettin' fuckin' wide and thinking he gets away with making her greet the way she was fuckin' greetin' when she came in here!"

Matt stared at him. He hadn't been able to understand a word of that! Capaldi's Scottish accent had been mild in the cafe. Out here, fury in full swing, his brogue thickened indecipherably. 

Politely: "I'm sorry, pardon?"

"Where's the cunt live?"

"I... I don't know."

"He's no a mate of yours?"

"No! Christ, no. We just worked together."

Capaldi took stock of that. " _Worked_? Past tense?"

"They fired him."

He tucked his hands into his armpits and took several deep breaths. "Right. That's no making him square with me, though. Find out where he lives."

Capaldi turned and walked back into the cafe, leaving Matt in shock. He came back a second later. The rage had passed like a storm. "Come in, then."

Once they were back at the counter Mr. Capaldi pointed toward the rear of the cafe. "She's up there, room right at the end with the door closed. She's asleep."

Matt headed through the cafe. It comprised of many little rooms all honeycombed together, tiny little spaces stuffed with only a few tables each. At the very end was the door Capaldi had told him about. It swung silently open on its hinges.

It looked like the place old sofas and armchairs came to die. They were sandwiched together, mismatched and patched. It smelled like cigarette smoke, coffee and a dozen people's houses. Matt closed the door and picked his way inside. It had a curiously cosy feeling. It was not difficult to imagine lots of people inside, sharing the very intimate, social space. A window with six divided panes let pale afternoon light sneak inside.

Karen was lying on her side with a floral tablecloth draped over her legs. She looked deeply asleep, chest rising and falling evenly. He sat on the sofa opposite hers and put up his feet. He didn't like the idea of waking her.

He smoked while he waited for Karen to wake. It was interesting, really, watching her sleep. She looked younger without that flirtatious gleam in her eyes. He observed little details that he'd never picked up on before. She had a lot more freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose than he remembered. Little golden studs were pressed into her earlobes. They were shaped like stars.

Jenna snuck in with a tray. There were two cold drinks in tall glasses and a pile of six sandwiches cut into quarters. She put it down on the very low table between the two sofas.

"Gin and tonics," she whispered, pointing, "the day's leftover sandwiches. Still good though. Going home now. Nice to meet you!"

"Likewise," Matt nodded and watched her leave.

Karen woke up as the door closed. Her eyes snapped open with a start. She sat up, disoriented, hair mussed and sticking up. "I'm..."

"Hey, you," Matt smiled at her.

Her gaze settled on him, unfocused and unsure. It took her a few extra seconds to remember where she was and what was happening. 

"Hi ..." Karen smoothed down her hair and reached for one of the drinks. "You're here."

"I am."

"I owe Mr. Capaldi so much today. I ate so many cakes and drank so much tea."

"I'm sure he doesn't mind."

She mixed the gin into the tonic water with her straw. She pressed the lemon against the glass, encouraging the juice. "How ... how was your day?"

"Interesting," Matt answered. He stirred his own drink and took a mouthful. Jenna hadn't skimped on the gin. It was good. "Everybody had loads of questions and hedged around asking them all day."

"So polite."

" _So_ polite. You're the talk of the office. The girls all think you're a star."

Matt watched her drink. She put the straw between her lips and sucked, and sucked, and sucked. Two-thirds of her gin was gone before she stopped. She looked up at him, eyes glassy from the tonic water's fizz. 

"I feel better about everything tonight," she said. She started picking through the sandwiches, hunting for one that appealed to her. She chose one with cheese and pickles and lay back to eat it. "It's stopped going round in circles in my head."

"That's good."

Karen took a rough bite. "Did you meet Mr. Capaldi on the way in?"

"Yeah."

"He's nice, isn't he?"

'Nice' was definitely not the word Matt would use to describe Capaldi. "He's fond of you."

She smiled into her sandwich. "He's like family."

Matt leaned forward and picked out a sandwich for himself. "Have you thought about what you're going to do now?"

"Get another job. Not going to tell Mum and Dad ... please don't tell me I should. I'm not going to and that's that."

"Fair enough. It's your call."

Karen finished her sandwich. "I'm glad you came. This last day ... it's been mad. I don't know why you haven't run screaming. I'm not usually this much trouble, honestly."

"I don't believe you." He laughed at the look of surprise he received. "I think you're always a bit of a handful, Karen ... but I'm kind of looking forward to it."

"But I'm really not!" Karen said, with her big, innocent eyes.

He continued chuckling at her and took a refreshing mouthful of gin. He leaned back, legs spread, and linked his fingers behind his head. "I swore off complicated birds you know. Too much trouble. The others ... they're too much work because they don't say what they mean. Play too many games. Sick of it. But you ... you _say_ what you mean. And you don't know how to play any games."

She jerked back, insulted. "Excuse you!"

"I mean it as a compliment."

"You're rather sure of yourself, aren't you!"

"I know a bit more about it than you do."

"You are cocky. You are so cocky. You're so full of yourself. It's really ...."

"What?"

"Annoying!"

He laughed again, long and hard. She was going to be all right. He had to admit, he'd worried during the day. Karen had a narrow escape and he wasn't sure how it was going to affect her. He was no doctor, but she seemed to have a good thing going here. The cafe, Mr. Capaldi (crazy revenge kick aside) and ... him. He was part of it now. 

Then he realised she was still frowning at him. He tried to rein in his laughter.

"Okay. Sorry! I'll not be so cocky."

"Or pretentious."

"Or pretentious."

"Or full of yourself."

"Or full of myself."

"Now _I_ don't believe _you_ ," Karen sniffed daintily and polished off her gin. She was smiling when she lowered the glass, however. "I'm going to have to shock the over confidence out of you."

Matt grinned. "Well. You can try."

Karen shook her head at him. "I should go home."

"I'll take you."

She didn't argue this time. Karen merely nodded, and they gathered up the tray and took it to the front of the cafe. Karen disappeared into the kitchen with it to tidy up and Matt found himself face to face with Mr. Capaldi. The Beatnik had detached himself from a table of smoking, middle-aged people in the nearest room. 

He probably _was_ very nice when he wasn't venting his rage on Matt. He got a taste of it now and it didn't take a genius to figure out why. There was no mistaking the smell of ganja. 

Matt fished out his wallet. "The drinks - "

"It's no bother," Mr. Capaldi held up his hand. He was smoking a cigarette with the other. "Glad you came by. Sorry about earlier. Bit worked up with all this shite."

"Don't worry about it."

Mr. Capaldi's demeanor changed suddenly again, voice becoming steely. "I still want to know where he fuckin' lives likes."

"...I'll see what I can do," Matt said, intending nothing of the sort. 

He clapped Matt on the shoulder, good spirits restored. "Karen! Leave that. Go home!"

"I'm nearly done!"

That left Matt and Capaldi to make awkward small talk.

"It's a nice cafe, this."

"Yeah, ta, ta, bit hodgepodge."

"No, no, it's got character."

"You think so?"

"Yeah and the music's gear."

"Fan of the Motown then?"

"Definitely."

"D'you know what it stands for?"

"What, Motown?"

"Yeah."

"Er ... black music?"

"No, the words. Mo-town?"

Capaldi looked excited about being able to tell someone. He took a quick puff. "Mo-town. Motor Town. Detroit. Make a lot of cars out there. Motor Town. Mo-town."

That actually was pretty interesting, but he was still glad when Karen reappeared. "How about that. That's interesting, that is."

"Is this the Motor Town story?" Karen asked, stepping close to Matt. His hand automatically slipped into the small of her back.

"It's a good story Karen. Hey. Got something for you." 

To Matt's complete and total surprise, Capaldi pulled a spliff out of his pocket. He gave it to Karen who took it confusedly. She glanced at Matt and put it in her purse. "Er ... thanks?"

"Smoke that one with the window open. All right, get out of here, get lost you two. Karen, come in Monday, we'll see what we can do, right?" 

"All right, Mr. Capaldi. Thank you." Karen paused, and then gave him a fierce little hug. "Thank you."

"Karen."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you can start calling me Peter now for christsakes?"

She laughed and promised she'd try. Matt nodded at Capaldi and they headed out together, strolling to his car.

"Why'd he say I had to smoke this one with the window open?" Karen asked, puzzled.

He snorted. Trust Karen to be completely behind the eight ball. "It's a spliff."

"Huh?"

"Marijuana."

" _Oh._ "

"Tell me you've smoked weed before."

Karen scoffed. "Of course I have!"

He wasn't sure he entirely believed her, but let it go. He drove her home and stopped one house down from hers. He watched as Karen gathered up her bag.

"You were brave today," he said. 

She looked up, shaking hair from her eyes. 

"I mean that. Properly brave. You did the right thing."

Karen smiled. "Yeah. I know. Couldn't have done it without you, though."

"I reckon you could've."

She shook her head slightly. "No."

This time, he kissed her first. It was long and deep. The gentleness it began with rapidly gave way to a greater urgency, a steadily building passion between the two. It became a series of kisses, breaking for air and restarting at once; discovering new angles and ways to explore one another. Matt slipped his hand down her arm and pulled properly back before he could get too carried away.

"What do you want to do Saturday?" He asked, lips moving against her forehead.

"Can we see _A Hard Day's Night_?"

He groaned and laughed. "If you like. Then dinner. We'll go out after."

"Yeah." She took a deep breath. 

"I'll come round at four, how's that?"

"That's good. Four. I like that."

Matt kissed her again, sealing the arrangement. "Scram. Get out me car. I'll see you tomorrow."

"If you're lucky," Karen replied loftily. She slipped out of the car (slamming the door a little too hard) and hurried inside, looking remarkably better than she had last time he took her home.


	10. Five Clubs

The Flamingo

Karen waited by the drawing room window. She heard a creak from somewhere in the house and glanced apprehensively back. Nobody was coming, however. Karen looked back out the window and cursed the thick green hedge. It made it very difficult to see when Matt's car pulled up.

Her parents were expecting him to come to the door and meet them. Matt was probably under the same impression. Karen, however, had other ideas. It felt so old-fashioned and stuffy to have him meet them. She didn't need their approval! She didn't even want it. This was hers, just as her job had been. Karen didn't relish the idea of her parents worming their way into this part of her life, too. She was willing to bet Matt didn't go around meeting the parents of other girls he took out. They would've been cool, independent girls who lived out of home, like Jenna did. Matt had already jumped through enough hoops as far as Karen was concerned. Was he even her boyfriend? They hadn't talked about it and was stupid to have him meet her parents before they discussed that!

The masterstroke of her plan was that she told her parents Matt was arriving later than the promised time. They wouldn't be hovering around and it'd give her the chance to slip out. She started and lifted herself up on to her toes when she heard a car slowing outside. She saw movement through the hedge. It was him! She snatched up her little bag.

"I'm going!!" She shouted and ran out the door before they could catch her. She hurried down the path and through the gate, giggling. Matt's car was idling by the curb. 

He looked surprised as she jumped in his car. "Hi. I was - "

"Don't worry about that," she said hastily, leaning over to give him a quick kiss. "Let's just go!"

Matt looked good in his shirt and slender trousers. She could smell his aftershave. He glanced over his shoulder at her house, dubious.

"Are you embarrassed by me, is that why you don't want me to meet them?"

She blinked at him. "Are you joking? Matt ... no ... I ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just don't want them sticking their nose in everything I do, giving me their stupid opinions. I didn't think you wanted to meet them."

"I don't. But ... think this through, Karen. They're not going to like you going out with someone they've not met, are they? I don't want them hating the idea of me before they can get a chance to meet and hate me properly."

Karen laughed. He was, unfortunately, right. "Okay. You're right. Next time, then ... next time ... come to the door."

He gave a firm little nod and patted the gearstick. Karen put her hand over it. His hand covered hers as he put the car into gear and pulled out on to the road.

"You're staring at me," he observed a few minutes later.

"I like watching you drive."

"Take notes next time."

"You look handsome when you drive."

He snorted and laughed. "Oh pipe down."

Their first stop was to see _A Hard Day's Night_. They sat on red velour seats before the flickering glow of a silver screen. Their clasped hands rested on Karen's thigh and she found it almost impossible to concentrate on the movie this time round. At first, his thumb stroked the side of her hand. Then it slipped down until his hand was upon her leg, thumb still stroking. Over time the fabric of her skirt edged up, and his thumb circled her skin instead. 

She was nervous, yet pleasantly intrigued by his gentle attention. After awhile, Karen started wanting more. Her heart fluttered and a heat grew between her thighs. Up until now, that had only ever happened when she was alone. She knew what it was. She felt shy of it in the presence of someone else.

She could feel Matt looking at her. She turned to see his eyes, dark and shiny in the cinema light, fixed on her. Their lips met, starting where their kisses usually ended: fast and passionate. His other hand came around and cupped her face, tipping back her head to deepen the kiss further. It dragged down her neck and then the touch grew suddenly lighter, hesitant, as he approached her chest. Karen arched her back enough to push her breast into his hand. He took the encouragement at once, massaging her breast, exploring the shape of her.

Karen frowned when he stopped and took his hand away. "What?"

"We have to stop," he whispered.

"What, no one's looking..."

"It's not that."

".... _Oh_." She started giggling.

"Shut up," he smiled, removing his hand from her leg. He put his arm over her shoulders and drew her close. "Idiot."

Male biology was a rather unknown frontier to Karen. She'd read books, she'd gossiped with the girls, but it was largely an exciting mystery. Scary and fascinating. She glanced at his lap, but in the darkness she couldn't see anything. Disappointing. She pressed her hand over her mouth for fear more giggles would escape.

After the movie, they went to dinner at a Chinese restaurant Matt knew. Karen had only eaten Chinese food a couple of times before and then, it had just been fried rice. The variety delighted her and they ended up ordering several dishes to share. They had red wine. Karen didn't like it. The wine was far too dry for her tastes but she drank it without complaint. It seemed rude to complain. 

Matt took her to the Flamingo, an R&B club that had lately become home to the Mod subculture sweeping the city. The club was accessed by a single door sandwiched between two fronts of Regent Shoes. A large sign over the top read: _Here is the internationally famous Flamingo Jazz Club downstairs!_ A Coca-Cola logo was printed beside it. They descended a flight of stairs and entered a world of music, smoke, dance and the hubbub of countless voices. 

They danced. Karen was pleased to find Matt actually wanted to. When she'd danced with other men they seemed to do it out of a sense of duty. Before long, both parties would be bored. However, Matt had just as much energy and enthusiasm as she did and they danced until they were hot and sweaty. They took breaks at crowded little tables or pressed against the walls and sipped drinks. 

"Come on, let's go to the Plug Hole!" Matt said after a few hours.

"The _what?_ "

"The Plug Hole! Club!"

Karen would learn that all nights tended to end there. He drove them to the next club, which was a different scene entirely. It was just as crowded, but mellower, and Matt seemed to know a lot of people. He bought her a glass of Babycham and a Double Diamond for himself. They sat on one side of an occupied booth. Matt's arm draped over her shoulders, a pleasant, reassuring weight. Karen felt sort of tingly all over and wondered just how much she'd actually drunk over the course of the evening. 

"Matt!"

She looked up. It took her a second or two to bring the man standing by the table into focus. Thin, brown-haired, manic grin. He'd more to drink than she had. Matt reached over her to shake the man's hand, then replaced his arm around her shoulders.

"David! Kaz, this is a friend of mine. David. David, Karen."

"Hello," they said together, nodding. "Where've you two been all night?" David added.

"The Flamingo," Matt answered, lighting up. He offered one to Karen and she shook her head. She'd already smoked more than she usually did in one night and felt a bit sick for it.

David sat on Karen's other side. "I've been at the Marquee."

"Anyone playing?"

"Nobody memorable."

"We're going to see the Yardbirds play next month. Got tickets."

David accepted the lit cigarette from Matt and took a long pull. "Could've gotten me tickets, too."

"Did," Matt told him smugly. "And one extra in case you want to bring somebody."

"Aw, cheers mate. Cheers. What do I owe you?"

"Nah, don't worry about it. Paying you back for that time we saw Georgie Fame."

"You've seen Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames?" Karen asked David, awed.

He nodded casually; he'd seen _loads_ of bands, she enviously realised. "Couple of times. Two, three?"

"This one's a bit keen," Matt grinned, tucking away his smokes now that he'd lit one for himself. He turned his head slightly to blow the smoke in the other direction. "Likes her music, she does. Practically twisted my arm off to get me to take her to the Yardbirds."

"Oh wait!" Penny dropped. David pointed at her. " _You're_ the secretary. You work with Matt! Heard about you."

"Good things, I hope?" Karen laughed, glancing at Matt.

David continued earnestly, trying to make Matt uncomfortable. "Oh yeah, he fancies you. The cute little redhead with her legs up to her ... well, you know. He's been dying to get into you."

Karen turned, smirking, to give Matt a very significant look. He spread his hands wide, then settled one over her shoulder again. "Not going to deny it. Bit of class there Tennant, please. This one's St. John's Wood posh."

"Stop it," Karen elbowed him.

"Nice up there," David commented. "Had an auntie in Swiss Cottage. Strange woman. Smelled like bananas. Anyway, I'll leave the pair of you to it." He stood up, grinning over Karen's head. "Make sure you don't lose this one's number, eh?"

"Piss off!" Matt laughed as David disappeared into the club.

"What did he mean by that?" Karen asked.

"Nothing." 

There was no time to question his innocence because his lips were on hers, kissing slowly. Deeply; she could hardly keep up because her head was swimming. How much _had_ she drunk? That's what she'd been thinking about, before David appeared. Oh, what did it matter? She concentrated instead on the warmth of Matt's tongue in her mouth, his breath upon her skin.

"Actually ..."

They broke apart at David's voice. He was back at their table, smiling sheepishly. "When are you and your girlfriend heading off?"

"You need a lift?"

"Yeah, I lost John."

"No bother," Matt said, rubbing Karen's shoulder. "What's the time, anyway?"

"Er," David consulted his wristwatch, "It's half twelve."

Karen sat up, startled. "Half _twelve?_ Ha!" She was mortified at the amount of trouble she was going to be in (god, she was of age, why did she even care anymore?!) and thrilled at the rebellion. When she started laughing she found herself unable to stop.

"Strict parents," she heard Matt explain, amused, to David.

"How old's this one?"

"Twenty. Strict posh parents."

"Right."

"We might go now then," Matt said, nudging Karen to get out of the booth. She went along with it, still giggling. "Mind if I take moonface home first?"

"Hey!" Karen exclaimed.

"How much has moonface had?" David asked Matt, steadying Karen's elbow when she wobbled on her heels. He laughed as she stuck her tongue out at him.

The three left the Plug Hole and made their way to Matt's car. David volunteered to go in the back. The fresh air sobered Karen up a little and she spent the entire journey kneeling on the front seat, facing into the back to talk to David.

"Why'd you want to become a tailor?" She asked.

David replied, "you know, that's a good question! Matt's never asked me that question. You ask good questions."

"Ta!"

"I never asked because I already knew, pretty bloody obvious to anyone who knows you," Matt answered, concentrating on the road.

"Dad's a tailor," David informed Karen. "It was just something I learned to do, didn't mind it, thought why not?"

"Do you make other clothes?" Karen asked.

"How d'you mean?"

"Like design your own things, like Ossie Clark?"

"Bit," David said, "don't get much time for it though. Most days I work ten hours, you know."

"Ten hours, gosh."

"Sort of putting in lots of extra time, move ahead in work."

"Matt does that." Something said earlier suddenly clicked with Karen. Holding on to the seat, she leaned toward the windshield to look at Matt. "You said I was your girlfriend."

He glanced at her, smirking. "No, David said that and I didn't correct him."

"Oh." Beat. " _Am_ I your girlfriend?"

"Course you are."

"Oh. That means you're my boyfriend, then."

"If you like."

David started sniggering in the backseat, so Karen let herself fall back into it and pointed at him. "You shush up. Have you a girlfriend?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I work ten hours a day, remember?"

"That's a shame."

"That's a shame," he repeated, nodding sagely. "You like working at the company?"

"I quit. I walked out. I went, 'no, fuck you all, I'm going, so be fucked.'"

Matt barked out a quick laugh. "That's not what you said."

She giggled, trying to pull her features into a Very Serious expression. "I didn't say it, no."

"Why'd you quit?"

" _They_ ," Karen said, over-articulating every other word, " _fired_ me, because this _person_ said I was _stealing_ and I _wasn't_ , and then when they _found out_ , I said, 'fuck you, I'm _leaving._ '"

"That's not what you said!" Matt called from being the steering wheel.

Karen shook her head and waved her hand apologetically. "That's not what I said."

"Hang about, that's pretty serious," David sat forward, concerned. "Why'd he say that?"

"Oh you're nice."

"He fancied her," Matt answered for her. "Tried it on and it didn't work, wanted to get her sacked before we could get _him_ sacked."

"Matt saved me," Karen said, pointing at him.

"Y'what?"

"I'll tell you later," Matt said with sudden edge of finality. 

Karen wondered if she'd said too much. She looked at Matt's profile. Her concern melted away when he shot her a quick, reassuring smile. She rounded her attention on David once more.

"Did you say you had a girlfriend? What?" She didn't understand why they were laughing at her.

A few minutes later, Matt stopped the car.

"Why've we stopped?" Karen asked, looking around. "Oh, is this my house?"

"Yep," Matt said, getting out of the car. It swayed as the door slammed shut.

Karen stuck her hand into the back. "Nice to meet you David."

David shook it. "You too. See you next time!"

The door on her side was opened. Karen grabbed her bag and slid off the vinyl seat, putting her heeled feet firmly on the bitumen road. She knew she was drunk and was set on remaining upright. Matt helped her out and walked her to the gate. 

"Don' t walk me to the door," she said, shaking her head with jerky, exaggerated movements. "I'm fine."

"I can. Don't mind."

"Nah. Fine." She realised this was the end of their first proper date and took a deep breath, willing away the fuzziness in her brain. She put her hands on his shoulders. "I had fun."

"So did I. Do it again next weekend, what do you say? Yeah?"

"Yeah," she grinned. 

They kissed. She didn't even care about the trouble she'd be in as she let herself into the house a few minutes later. Everything that happened tonight had been worth it.

 

 

Pop Inne

Karen had exciting news when she bounded into Matt's car one particularly hot Saturday night. She knelt on his vinyl seats and placed her hands on his shoulders, kissing him soundly.

"Hello!" Matt laughed, pulling back from her. "What's this good news, then?"

"I've got another job!" She all but squealed. She bounced on the seat and banged her head on the roof. "Ow."

"That's brilliant!" He enthused, amazed and impressed that she had managed to pick up something else so quickly. "Go on, tell me all about it!"

"Well Mr. Capaldi said he was going to ask some friends if they knew of any work going! And one of his friends is brothers with the manager at Hamleys! Hamleys! The toy store, Regent Street? And they needed an extra hand. It's only four days a week - Monday to Thursday, but isn't that great?!"

"Hey!" He laughed and kissed her. "That's great, Kaz! When do you start?"

"Monday! But I went in yesterday, and they showed me things! It's on five levels, isn't that huge? To begin with they said they'd just put me on the till. But when Mr. Troughton - that's the manager - found out I had office experience, he said I could maybe help in the office when they need extra hands!"

Her enthusiasm was contagious. Matt laughed and embraced her. Trying to hug her with this much excitement was like trying to hold an armful of water. She bounced and laughed, rocking his car. 

He kissed her face, everywhere his lips could touch her - lips, cheeks, nose, forehead. "So proud of you. So proud of you, Kaz. Come on. We're going for drinks to celebrate, then we're going to the Pop Inne."

Karen sat back to give him room to drive. He saw her hand was already on the gearstick, waiting for them to go. "I haven't even heard of that place!"

"No? Even better!"

She gabbled at him all the way into town. He liked listening to her noisy, happy chatter. She talked about her week and how she had helped out a little around the cafe. She asked about work in Matt's office. She was delighted, vibrant and so, so alive.

They settled in a stuffy pub where Karen insisted on paying for their drinks. He sipped his beer and admired the way her long, pale limbs extended from beneath her yellow shift dress. A smattering of freckles decorated her arms.

"Were your Mum and Dad waiting up for you last weekend?"

Karen snorted laughter into her glass. "Yes. Dad was. He was so mad he didn't even talk to me. Mum said she heard me going up the stairs 'like an elephant.' But I think they were madder I hadn't bought you in to say hello more than anything else."

He frowned at her. "Then you should've taken me in tonight." Some dark, paranoid voice in his mind asked if she was just using him to spite her parents.

"I know," she sighed. "But Dad was mad I was home so late too. I just don't want this stupid awkward ... thing."

"Next time, I want to meet them."

"No you don't."

"Yeah, I do. Next week, okay?"

"Fine," she muttered, taking another mouthful.

This was probably the first and only time in his life where he'd voluntarily put up his hand to meet the parents. Girlfriends had suggested it before, and one or two times it had happened by accident. Every time he'd met family of a girl he was seeing it was awkward - either because they didn't like him, or because they liked him too much. Matt had a very strong feeling that Karen's parents were going to dislike him. Yet he liked her ... he liked her a lot, and if this was going to work then this had to happen. Karen didn't realise that yet. She was pumped up with her rebellion. That wouldn't last forever; one day, she might have to make a choice.

They danced all night at the Pop Inne club. When they got too hot, they retreated to the crowded, open-air courtyard and sucked on the ice cubes from their drinks. Her lips were warm when she kissed him after the latest cube had melted, her tongue freezing as it pressed against his. He learned the shape of her body with hungry, patient exploration. Karen's body was soft and warm beneath his hands and he would ask himself, again and again, how long he would have to wait. 

It was truly his intention to get Karen home early. He planned to meet her parents and didn't want to throw more fuel on the fire. The night just slipped away from them, though. Matt remembered seeing nine o'clock go by and think they should go in an hour ... and about an hour later he just could not bring himself to check the time. He didn't want to wait another full week before seeing her. Every time he thought about the hour thereafter he bought them another drink or took her dancing again. And then it was a quarter to one.

They staggered out of the Pop Inne, heads together, giggling. It had just been discovered that they both watched _Doctor Who_. They were making noises, stupid loud noises, which strung together somehow made up the theme song.

"Okay okay shut up concentrating driving," he waved his hands at her once he was behind the wheel. His vision was swimming and he frowned hard at the road ahead, waiting for it to merge into one image instead of two. He gave a satisfied little nod when it did (mostly) and turned the key in the ignition.

"Hand!" He announced grandly.

Karen dropped her hand on to the gearstick. "Hand!"

"Forward!"

"Forward!"

The car reversed instead, banging hard into the car parked behind them.

Silence.

"Oh ... fuck ..." Matt murmured.

Karen pressed her spare hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wide and she was making funny little sounds. It took him a few seconds to realise she was desperately trying not to giggle. 

"It's not funny," he warned her, moving the gearstick into first gear. 

He eased the car forward, slowly, slowly ... peering at the doubled-up image of the car in the rearview mirror to assess the damage. Concentration elsewhere, his foot slipped and pressed too hard on the accelerator. They hit the parked car in front of them with another sickening bang.

Karen couldn't control herself this time. She shrieked with laughter. Gasped for breath. The initial shock of two prangs was passing and Matt, drunk as she was, felt his own laughter rising. He bowed his head. Oh fuck. Two cars. Fuck. _His_ car. Fuck! Oh fuck, he couldn't drive laughing and drunk. He sniggered, desperately trying to control himself.

"Karen, Karen, shut up. Got to fuckin' ... fuckin' drive before some Teddy Boy beats the shit out of me ..."

To her credit, she tried. She stared at her knees and made strangled little noises as she tried to suffocate unstoppable laughter. Matt concentrated very, very hard as he pulled his car away from the curb. Right. Okay. On the way. As he stared at the blurry road a few snickers escaped him ... that was all it took to get Karen going again.

 

 

**August, 1964**

 

Klooks Kleek

On a Wednesday night, Matt and Karen planned to go out to a club in West Hampstead. It was called Klooks Kleek and was based inside the Railway Hotel, smack-bang next to the Decca Recording Studios (which Karen thought was the most exciting thing ever ... what if they saw one of the Rolling Stones?!) Before they went, however, there were parents to meet.

"He's here," Karen murmured from her post by the drawing-room window. 

She looked over her shoulder. Her father's newspaper twitched but he determinedly remained behind it. She was pretty sure he had been reading the same page for the last five minutes. Her mother lowered her book to her knees and smiled. At least she was making a show of support.

Karen left the window when she saw the front gate opening. She walked into the hallway and patted her hair. Adjusted her Peter Pan collar. Gave herself a confident little nod: it didn't matter what they thought. She was twenty. She could _do what she liked!_ With _who_ she liked.

She counted to five after Matt knocked on the door before opening it. He'd made an effort, she could tell. His hair was slicked the way he wore it to work. He was freshly shaven - perhaps just minutes ago. Karen stepped closer and ran her hand along his smooth cheek.

"Hi. You don't have to do this."

"I know. Hi."

She closed her eyes and gently pressed her lips to his. Karen felt his arm slide around her waist, pulling her to him with one firm tug. A warm tingle spread through her body. 

"Nervous?" She asked when they parted for air.

"Bit."

"Then let's make it quick."

Karen took his hand and lead him into the drawing room. The Times crinkled as her father lowered and set it aside; both her parents stood.

"So this is Matthew Smith ... and my Mum and Dad."

Her father extended his hand. "Raymond Gillan."

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Marie," her mother said. "Please, sit, we were just about to have some lemonade. Karen squeezed it."

Matt and Karen sat on the sofa facing the two armchairs. She kept hold of his hand - making a statement. Why did her mother have to say 'we were just about' as though it hadn't been sitting on the table for the past fifteen minutes? Why did she have to say she'd squeezed the lemons? Marketing her as good wife material because she squeezed half a dozen lemons? Oh, her mother was so embarrassing sometimes!

Ice clinked against the edges of the jug. The water set, with its fine glass jug and matching glasses, was gold rimmed and had a delicate leaf pattern on each cup. It had been a wedding present and was only brought out for special occasions. Karen thought she could count the number of times she had been allowed to use it on one hand. Her mother prized it. The glasses of lemonade were passed around. 

Her father took a mouthful of lemonade and winced. Karen looked down at her own cup. Perhaps she hadn't added enough sugar. She tried it. Okay. More sugar next time.

"Karen says you're a junior architect at Baker, Baker and Davison," her father spoke up.

Matt, bravely taking a second sip of lemonade, nodded. "The last couple of years, yes. It's quite rewarding."

"What sort of projects do you work on?"

"I'm afraid it's not very varied for my level," Matt admitted. "Mainly housing, sometimes improvements. The senior architects are working on designs for the new hospital at the moment."

"Enjoy it?"

"Most of the time. It's very rewarding. I can drive past a house and say to myself, 'I designed that.' It's a good feeling."

"Dad can say that about people's teeth," Karen snickered, but nobody responded to the joke. Almost nobody: Matt squeezed her hand.

Her mother put down her glass and held up a plate. "Biscuit? Karen made them."

Karen _did not_ make those. She started to say just that, but her mother shook her head at her. Matt accepted an iced biscuit.

"That lemonade is awful, sorry," Karen pointed out.

"Nah, rubbish lemons," Matt said reassuringly.

The lemons came from her father's tree, in their garden, which he took special pride in pruning and watering. "No.... pretty sure it's me. I'm a rubbish cook."

Her mother's damage of lying about the biscuits: undone!

"I like the biscuit," said Matt loyally.

Karen rolled her eyes and flopped back.

_Sit up!_ Her mother mouthed at her. She pretended not to notice.

"Do your parents live in London?" Karen's Dad asked.

Matt shook his head. "Northampton. I go back to see them whenever I can."

"What does your father do?"

"He works for the council. Town planning. Mum works a few hours a week in a grocer's," he added, anticipating the question to follow, "keeps her busy."

"Do you like living in London?"

"Very much. I'm based in Shepherd's Bush these days ... when did you come to London, may I ask?"

"When Karen was seven," her father replied. "There were better opportunities here."

Matt nodded. "Yes ... lots of opportunities ..."

They lapsed into an awkward silence. 

"We should go!" Karen sat up, seizing the opportunity. "Dinner plans and that."

Everyone stood. The tension was thick in the air and Karen wished she could strangle herself in it. The conversation was light but the pleasantries were excruciating. It was so humiliating. Her father shook Matt's hand again.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Gillan. And you, Mrs. Gillan."

"Try to have her home before midnight."

Karen glared at her father. He couldn't have just been nice, could he! There was nothing civil about that tone. 

"And sober, it's not seemly," he couldn't resist adding.

"Okay, bye!" Karen said hastily over his last couple of words. She hustled Matt out the drawing room, down the hall, and into the front garden.

"He doesn't like me," Matt said once they were in his car. "He really does not like me."

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," Karen replied. "Really."

"I felt like everything I said wasn't good enough."

"He has that effect on people."

Matt mussed up his hair a bit. "Do you want to be home before midnight?"

Karen snorted. "No!"

"Good." He moved to start the car. Hesitated, relaxed. "I hate that."

"What?"

"Being made to feel I'm not good enough. He doesn't think I'm good enough for you."

Karen had not considered that he would take it to heart. All she had thought about regarding this meeting was that it was humiliating for her. She had never considered that Matt might have some personal stake in it, too ... and something to prove. Her heart swelled with affection for him. What her father said and thought bothered him ... because of how he felt about her.

She scooted close to Matt. Turned his cheek, kissed his lips. "You're more than good enough."

"I work. It's a respectable job. I come from a nice family ... what more does he want?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't matter."

"Karen, it matters," he said evenly, a flicker of frustration passing through his eyes. "I know you're of age. But he could make things very difficult for us - for you. What if we got really serious and he said something like, 'I will never give my blessing'. What would you do?"

"You think we could get really serious?"

He sighed. "Changing the subject, Karen."

"Then I would tell him he's wrong and I don't care."

Matt started the car. He didn't seem satisfied by that response at all. "Yeah, okay."

"Matt."

"Yeah?"

She waited until she had his full attention. "I like that you think about these things." 

Karen put her hand over the gearstick, wiggled her fingers, ready. Klooks Kleek was waiting.

 

 

Bromel Club

"She's a virgin."

"Really?" David's head whipped toward him so fast that he nearly spilled his drink. He looked at Karen, who was energetically dancing with Jenna. "Wouldn't have picked that. Are you sure?"

"She told me." Matt finished his beer and set it down on the table nearby. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "I was all right about it at the time. Now it feels so serious. Pressure."

"How can you feel pressure? It's not like she's got anyone to compare you to."

"Expectations, you know. And I met her parents last Wednesday. That was weird. Father didn't like me. Said, 'get her home before midnight.'"

"When'd you get her home?"

"One."

David chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it, you know."

Matt made a face. "I was really all right about it up until the other night. Now it seems so serious, I don't know. Met her parents. It's ... there's a lot of pressure being someone's first. What if she wants to get married after that?"

"Oh, come on."

"No really! What if she gets all attached?"

"Don't sleep with her then."

"But I want to."

"Of course you want to, but if you're scared she's going to get clingy - don't. Easy. Although ..."

Matt knew that tone. "What?"

"You _have_ been taking her out every weekend for what, the last month? _And_ seeing her during the week. And you're scared she's the one who is going to get clingy?"

He sighed. "I know. I _like_ her. Jesus, it's so much more complicated with virgins."

David laughed. "You're the one making it complicated. Has she given you any indication that she wants you to marry her or something?"

"No. Opposite, actually," he added, thinking back. "Her mother made a big deal about her making the lemonade and biscuits and Karen shot it all down. Said she couldn't cook."

"Well there you go." Beat. "She's not the other way, is she? You know. Frigid. Scared of it."

"No!" Matt snorted and laughed. "She's keen. Had to make her stop a few times. She ah, doesn't know her own strength, if you know what I mean."

"When're you going to do it?" David asked, draining his beer.

"Haven't talked about it. It'll just happen, I suppose."

"Well, make sure you're ready," David said, shooting him a significant look, "because if she's not been doing it then she probably won't be."

"I'm always ready. Keep them in my wallet."

"Good man."

Karen came out of the crowd and grabbed Matt's hand. "Dance with me!"

David gave Matt a girly, finger-waggling wave farewell which earned him the finger.

At a quarter to twelve, Matt parked his car two houses down from Karen's. They were far more sober than they usually were when he took her home. 

"So," he said, tugging a lock of her hair, "have a good week at work ... don't have too much fun with Arthur."

"Arthur's funny," she giggled, then put on her most serious expression. "Not as funny as you, of course."

"And don't forget that."

"But funnier, way funnier than you."

"You're such a brat," he laughed and pulled her to him. Matt's mouth covered hers, his hand gliding down her side. Despite the worries he'd unloaded on David, he was growing rapidly impatient with just kisses. They were good, they were great - but they were not enough. He couldn't remember the last time he'd waited this long for a girl.

He took her moan as encouragement. He kissed down her soft, warm neck, hand moving to her chest without waiting for permission. He wanted her dress off, wanted to stop relying on his imagination and see what she looked like underneath. Feel her. From the way Karen was kissing him, she seemed to want the same thing. Her hands roamed his back and chest, clutching at his shirt, untucking it. Matt's trousers felt tight. 

"God, you drive me crazy," he muttered against her lips. He kissed her hard ... then made a soft little moan of surprise as he felt her hand low on his stomach. "Kaz..."

"I want to touch you," she eagerly said, "may I?"

"Ah, yeah. Yeah."

"Oh good," she breathed. 

She started kissing him again. A second or two later he felt a hesitant touch over the bulge in his trousers. He gave a little hiss of pleasure an angled his hips toward her.

"You can ... harder, if you like," he said between kisses. He rewarded her with a longing groan when he hand pressed more firmly against him.

"May I...?" Her fingers moved to the button at the top of his trousers.

He helped her work them down. "Yes. Definitely. Yes." 

Karen's hand was heaven on his cock. She started out touching him through his underwear. Her hand was greedy in its exploration; with a little guidance from him, she leaned how much pressure she could apply. By the time she pulled out his cock he was panting. He tipped his head on to the top of the seat. Every fibre of his being concentrated on her touch.

"You're so hard," she observed, fascinated, "and ... the skin moves ... and you feel so hot ... am I doing it right?"

"You can squeeze tighter."

"Like this?"

His answer was a loud, guttural groan. "You can ... you can move your hand faster, too - oh _christ,_ Karen, yes, that's ... that's fucking _good..._ "

Matt wasn't going to be able to hold out for long. Her fist was tight and pumping urgently against him. He watched her watching him, fascinated by the act. He gripped her waist.

"Karen, I'm going to ... going to come ..."

"Okay, okay," she whispered, and he had a split second to wonder if she knew what to expect before he came with a cry, hips jerking and pushing himself into her hand. He came over her fingers.

"Oh!" Karen started in surprise, but she didn't release him. She leaned down for a better look in the dark. "Ohhhh...."

"Sorry," Matt groaned, voice strained. "It's ... sort of ... messy ..."

She shook her head. "It's fine ... it's ... it's really warm ..."

He chuckled, grinning. "Reach into the glovebox for me. Tissues."

Karen opened the glovebox and shifted aside the manual and a wrench to find a squashed box of tissues. Not really knowing what to do, she passed it to Matt. Her attention as he wiped up was strangely disconcerting. She began cleaning her hand.

"There's a _lot_ of it."

"Yeah."

"And it's sticky. Oh yuck, there's bits of tissue on my hand ..."

"Sorry."

He dissolved into laughter as she sniffed her hand and drew sharply back. Matt tucked himself back in and draped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

"That was very ... very good."

"Was it? Yeah?" She grinned up at him, looking extremely pleased with herself.

"It was _very_ good." He kissed her hair. "Thank you."

"What does it feel like?"

Matt paused. "That's ... hard to say. It's different for men and women ... but it feels really, really good. I could show you..."

"What d'you mean?"

He didn't really feel like it just yet. Matt would've preferred just to sit and catch his breath ... but teaching her was turning out to be quite fun. "There are things I can do for you. Touching you."

"But ... we're in your car."

"Didn't stop you."

"Well no, but that's ... different."

"Hmm..." he kissed her, slowly, his tongue coaxing hers out of her mouth. Making her want more, making her chase the kiss. 

Perhaps it was different. He'd done this before. Not all her first times should be in his old car. Despite his thoughts, his fingers were already brushing lightly up her inner thigh. She opened her legs, just a little, the muscles beneath his fingers tense. Karen's breathing shallowed as his fingertips danced along the elastic of her knickers. Just seconds earlier he hadn't felt up to this - now he wanted to touch her more than anything. When his fingers brushed the damp cotton of her knickers it was all he could do not to take her right there and then.

She gave a little whimper of surprise and jerked away. Nerves. He could feel the blush in her cheeks - she was self-conscious and all of this was new. He was damn sure nobody else had touched her like this before.

"I can stop..." he whispered, rubbing his nose against hers.

"I'm okay," she answered breathlessly.

Matt occupied her with kisses while his fingers moved against her knickers again. Lightly, barely touching, feeling that gloriously wet fabric. She hardly breathed. He dragged his fingers up between her legs harder, letting her properly feel him. 

"How's that?"

She nodded, swallowing hard. "I like it."

He wanted to laugh - she was so very polite. Matt kept his giggles to himself. She was self-conscious enough as it was. One finger slipped inside her knickers, gently tracing her folds. She was swollen and so wet, whimpering into his mouth. Her legs shifted restlessly as he circled her entrance and pressed one digit inside. Matt moved it gently, letting her get used to him. When he withdrew it he dragged his finger right up to her clit and began to circle it.

She gave a series of quick, sharp gasps and sat up a little straighter. Matt increased pressure and pace and she moaned - oh, how she moaned, briefly squeezing her eyes shut. He continued to rub two fingers against her, trying to find exactly what would make her tick over. Karen moaned, she whimpered ... but she couldn't quite get there. Before long she flinched back, too sensitive to go on being touched.

"That ... I ..."

Matt lightly kissed her lips. "Different for birds. Bloke's got it easy ... but with you birds, it takes a bit of time to work out just what gets you there."

"There's more?"

He chuckled. "Yeah there's more. You know that feeling you had, like you were building toward something just beyond your reach?"

"...yeah?"

"Won't always be beyond your reach," he murmured against her lips. "Try it yourself sometime."

"I have," she admitted, tugging her skirt down.

"Oh, _have_ you?" Matt asked as if he'd just heard the gossip of the century. "Keep at it then. You're embarrassed. You're blushing again. Aren't you. Hey?"

"Shut up," she muttered, elbowing him in the ribs. 

He gave a great, victorious laugh and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Past your bedtime anyway."

"It is not."

"Then it's past your Dad's and he's in there waiting for you."

"Silly Dad."

"Silly old Dad indeed. Go on."

Karen checked all her clothing was in place and kissed his cheek. "This was ... yeah. Thank you. Um, can I ask something?"

"Course."

"Is it always this ... messy?"

Keep a straight face, keep a straight face ... "Lot of the time, yeah."

"Oh." Bless her, she sounded a bit disappointed. "Okay. Good night!"

Matt waited until she was past the gate before gunning the engine. Always this messy indeed...!

 

 

The Marquee

The Yardbirds were only meters away from her. Karen, Matt, David and David's date (whose name she did not catch and probably wouldn't, since she was spending all her time flirting at the bar) were inside the Marquee. The gig had finally arrived and it was every bit as vibrant and exciting as Karen had built it up to be in her mind. 

The Marquee had to be her favourite club of all. Matt had taken her here three times now, and it always seemed to be the most happening venue. She loved the music, the people in their colourful, fashionable clothes, the girls she met in the loos and shared sticks of eyeliner and mascara with. A whole new world had opened up to Karen since she had started seeing Matt. And it was _limitless._

She met Eric Clapton when the set ended. "You were brilliant! Brilliant! Thank you so much!" She gushed, barely able to contain her excitement.

"Cheers love," he grinned, easing through the crowd with his guitar held aloft.

Karen spun into Matt and pressed her hands excitedly against his chest. "Oh my god. Oh my god, he called me 'love'!"

"Oh yeah, bet he never calls anyone that..!"

Part of the sparkling, new world Karen was exploring was her (and it made her giggle to think of it) sexuality. She had lived years in awed curiosity. Now she couldn't keep her hands off Matt; she loved to explore his body, have him make those urgent, private noises that were all for her. Moreover, she was starting to lose her coyness where her own body was concerned. She was getting used to his hands on her - and wanted more.

"What are you doing next weekend?" Karen asked when they were sitting at a booth by themselves. David was looking for his elusive date.

"Taking out your stupid face, I suppose."

"What if we don't go out?"

That got his attention. He looked at her, confused and if she wasn't mistaken, concerned. "Eh?"

She shuffled a little closer. "Well ... Mum and Dad are going to Inverness ... visiting family ... and I'll be home all by myself from Friday to Sunday ... and I'll get scared in that big, big house all by myself..."

Now he was catching on. A slow, dirty grin was spreading across his face. "Oh, will you now?"

"I need someone to come and help me ... keep an eye on things."

"I think I might know somebody."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, David's not busy next weekend - ow! Okay, right. So to be straight ... you want me to come and stay with you on the weekend. In your house."

She gave a single, exaggerated nod.

"I think I can take time out of my busy schedule for that..."


	11. 45 RPM

Karen rebelled when her mother attempted to present her as a housewife; resenting the idea that cookery skills shaped her into a better, more desirable woman. 

She prepared roast lamb on Friday night and did not notice her own contradiction. 

The truth was she was not as poor a cook as she had said. Karen usually helped her mother prepare meals and knew how things were done. She wasn't particularly creative in the kitchen, but she was able to put decent dishes together with no great difficulty. She'd invited Matt to stay the weekend with her - the least she could do was be a good hostess.

Naturally, her parents knew nothing of it. They left at lunchtime, bags packed, with promises they would return late Sunday afternoon. Her father diligently showed her things she already knew: the fusebox, spare keys, where the hose attachments were if it didn't rain and she had to water the garden. It was rather insulting, but she just wanted him to go so she endured it all with admirable patience. 

Karen seldom had the house to herself. She relished the freedom and played her music loudly while she prepared dinner. She was lying to herself if she did not admit she was nervous. Karen had never invited a _man_ over for dinner ... not to mention having one stay. She knew what she wanted out of the weekend and Matt must've understood it, too. Anticipated it. Her curiosity knew no bounds, yet she was still nervous and hoped she did not regret her bold decision to invite him. As a precaution, she aired the guest bedroom for him. Her bed was just a single, anyway ... it seemed smarter to give him his own space, in case her nerve gave out. 

Part of her was against the _scheduling._ It was becoming an Event, as opposed to something which she would've preferred to happen organically; spur of the moment, like in romance stories. Yet, she couldn't see any way around it. She didn't want it to happen in his car. That felt ... tacky.

The house began to fill with the mouthwatering scent of roasting meat. Karen walked around the rooms of her house, home since was seven, and tried to look at it through someone else's eyes. What was Matt going to think of it? He liked ribbing her for being a 'posh bird.' Last time he visited he'd been distracted by her parents and hadn't much of an opportunity to look around. Her house wasn't that posh, she decided. It was ... okay, so there were some nice antiques and bits of restored furniture, and they did have some clever appliances in the kitchen which were quite new ... and their telly was state of the art ... oh, he was going to make so much fun of her over this.

She stopped examining photographs in the dining room when she heard knocking at the front door. Karen straightened up, patted her hair, checked her make-up in the hall mirror. She opened the door to find Matt waiting on the other side, shirt-sleeves rolled up and a scuffed red suitcase in one hand. It had big brass latches and a small embossed plate bearing the name Smith. In the other hand was a battered guitar case.

"Hi, come in," Karen stepped back to let him pass. They kissed briefly as he made the transition from indoors to outdoors. "How was your day?"

"All right. Something smells good!"

"It's a roast. Lamb. Do you like lamb?"

"Love it, yeah."

"So er, bring your suitcase upstairs."

Karen led the way. She felt a little awkward about her choice of where to lodge Matt and hoped it would not offend him ... so she decided to explain as she went. It saved her from having to say it directly to his face.

"I've put you in the guest bedroom. It's nice, hope that's okay, it gets lots of afternoon sun so it stays nice and dark in the mornings. There's not really room in my ... you know, so I thought ..."

"No, no. That's fine. I'm sure it's lovely," Matt assured her. He sounded okay about the arrangement, at least.

Karen pointed things out once they were on the landing. "My parents' room is there. This is the bathroom and this door's mine." She touched her hand to a half-closed door and crossed to the bedroom opposite. The guest bedroom was decorated in browns and greens, with a wallpaper of horizontal green lines. A pattern of ferns ran between each bold line. It was a comfortable space with a double bed, end tables covered in embroidered doilies, and a paneled wardrobe.

"Nicer than my own room," Matt smiled at her and put his suitcase on the end of the bed. The guitar case was placed carefully on the chocolate-coloured carpet.

"I bet it isn't."

He unlatched his case. From amongst the clothes he grabbed a bottle of wine by the neck. "Mum always told me: never go empty handed to somebody's house." He presented it to her.

Karen turned the bottle around in her hands. "This is lovely, thanks."

Matt looked around the bedroom. Karen pretended to read the label on the bottle of wine, sneaking glances at him. This was ... this was a bit awkward.

"Oh come here," Matt said with a sudden laugh. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Kissed her. "Hello, darling." Kissed her again.

"Hello you," she replied, feeling the stilted situation melting away. "You bought your guitar."

"I did!" He glanced at it. "Thought I could prove to you that I can play."

"I can't wait."

"You've gone to a bit of trouble, haven't you? Cooking a full roast."

"It's nothing, really."

"Should I be afraid?"

"What d'you mean?"

He grinned at her, pressing his forehead to Karen's. "You said you were a rubbish cook."

Karen smirked. "You'll have to see. Come on! I need to get back to it. What do you want to do? You can have a sit down and a read if you like ... or watch telly ..."

"I could keep you company."

She took his hand and tugged him along with her. His answer was perfect. She was doing her best to be the kind of hostess her mother would be proud of, but she was no saint. Karen would've resented it if he'd done what she'd so graciously suggested. She wanted the company and was glad for it.

She judged the roast to be ready and set it on top of the cooker. She inserted a skewer into the roasted potatoes, parsnip and pumpkin and thought they needed a little longer, so put them back in the oven. Karen tied an apron around her waist and fanned herself with the oven mitt.

"It's hot in here."

"I'll get you a drink," Matt suggested. "Do you want the wine or ... something cold?"

"I'd love something cold," Karen said. She nodded at the table. "Sit down, I'll get it."

"No, I'm right. Fridge?"

He opened the cream-coloured GE fridge and found glass Coca-Cola bottles on the bottom shelf. He took out two, opened them with satisfying hisses, and passed one to her. Karen took a few big mouthfuls and then pressed the blessedly cold bottle against the back of her neck.

"That's better. Thanks."

Karen had planned to eat at the kitchen table. It felt less formal. The dining room was a fussy space used only for special occasions, yet it was on the other side of the house and much cooler in the afternoons. 

"Do you want to eat outside?" She asked in a flash of inspiration. "See, I was thinking we could eat here but it's a bit hot ... and it's nice out there. Might be a bit squashy cos it's only a small table..."

"Yeah, why not? Something different! What do we need to take out?

Karen considered, turning thoughtfully around. She loaded up a tray with cutlery, salt and pepper shakers, a delicate jug of mint sauce and serviettes. Matt carried it outside for her and held it whilst she swept down the table and chairs. They laid out the things. As Karen suspected, it was cramped ... but a pleasant breeze flowed, and her mother's flowers were in full bloom. Worth it. They ate their dinner out there a short time later, the small round table becoming even more crowded with the addition of dinner plates and glasses of wine, which had been traded for their cokes. It was a dry wine again, and Karen liked it less than she had in the Chinese restaurant.

They talked of their respective weeks since they had last seen one another. Baker Baker and Davison continued as it always had done. They had replaced Karen within a week of her departure, but it had been harder to find someone to perform Sam's role. A new man had started this week, fresh out of university.

Karen was flourishing in Hamleys. She had gotten the hang of the tills and the ins and outs of selling. She was permitted to help with the displays and demonstrate the latest dolls to little girls. True to his word, Mr. Troughton bought Karen into the office to assist with bookwork. 

"I help Miss Hill with the books on Monday mornings, and then type letters on Wednesday afternoons because she finishes at two," Karen explained with far more glee than administrative work deserved.

"Novelty's not worn off, then."

"How could it! It's a toy store! Arthur gets the best jobs. He demonstrates the toys all day. At the moment, we just got in this new one, called a Thingmaker."

"It makes ... things?" Matt asked, eating the last of his Yorkshire pudding with a forkful of minted lamb.

"Yep. You pour this gloopy stuff into moulds, see, and heat it up, and the gloopy stuff goes firm. Kids love it. Especially the boys. They put them in their parents' beds and things!"

"I bet their parents love that."

"It's the sort of thing their granddads buy them," Karen giggled, "get back at their own kids for putting real spiders in their beds!"

"Did you do that?"

"Me? No. Too scared of spiders to catch them."

The temperature was dropping. Together, they packed up everything on to the tray and carried it inside. Matt kissed her temple, telling her it was brilliant - she did cook a pretty good roast, she could admit that. She washed dishes and he dried, and by the time the last plate was put away it felt like Matt had been in her house forever. It was hard to believe she had thought the idea of having him around could be awkward. 

"D'you want some icecream? There's some of Mum's homemade peach stuff in the freezer."

Karen leaned in the living room doorway and looked in on Matt. He was on the floor amongst a pile of records. She had bought all of hers downstairs in their carry case, preferring to use the superior record player downstairs while her parents were out. 

"You've got some good ones here," Matt said, glancing up. "What, did you say something?"

"I asked if you wanted some icecream."

"Er ... nah. I'm good, thanks. Won't go with my wine." He nodded at the glass on the coffee table. His was half drained, hers was untouched. Matt picked up her 45 single of the Animals' _House of the Rising Sun._

Karen knelt down on the other side of the case. "I love that one."

The entire evening was spent playing records. Matt didn't like everything she owned, and snorted openly at a few. He encouraged her to toss the Herman's Hermits one in the bin when she next went outside. Karen snatched it back and muttered something about personal preferences. They danced. They finished the wine and ate crisps, crushing salt into the carpet. They filled her father's glass ashtray with cigarette butts and threw their own private little party, as good as any they had out. 

Matt collapsed on the carpet, laughing so hard he held his stomach. "But - it's - ridiculous!" He managed to say, struggling for breath.

She swatted at his shoulders until he caught her by the wrists, pulling her body on top of his. "You be quiet! You're a bully. I'm allowed to be!"

"But they can't hurt you!!"

"They get caught in your hair and get squished and there's moth guts, and they go -" she blew out air between puckered lips, fanning her tongue up and down which gave the breath a whipping noise. That only served to crack Matt up again, laughing so hard that he was barely able to make a sound. "Shut up they do! They do!"

All he was able to do was move his arms around her waist and pull her body tight against his. She could feel his chest bubbling with laughter, his entire body was shaking with it. It was faintly annoying. Karen was more than capable of laughing at herself, but being pinned to him while he laughed at her wasn't much fun. She struggled off and lay beside him, away from that vibrating chest. One of his arms was trapped beneath her.

Matt didn't let her go for long. He followed her over, propping himself up with his other hand. He was smirking down at her, eyes glassy with tears of mirth. "Moths."

"I'll get you for this."

"So I should buy one of those Thingmakers then ... I bet they have moth moulds."

"No - they don't!" Karen said far too quickly to be believable.

Matt just chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose. "You're a rotten liar."

"You're a rotten boyfriend."

"I'm really not," he mumbled, pressing his lips to hers. Karen gave herself over to it at once, savouring the taste of him, the warmth of his mouth ... and then he spoiled it all by laughing again. He didn't even have the decency to stop kissing her before it started.

Karen shoved his chest, in equal parts annoyed and amused. "Get off!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he sniggered, rolling off her to laugh at the ceiling.

After midnight they both began to wind down and feel the effects of their long, busy days. There was no need to stay up and exhaust themselves; they had all day tomorrow together, and most of Sunday. Karen closed up the downstairs and turned off lights. She parted company with Matt on the landing. 

"Do you have everything you need?"

"Yeah. I'll be right. Don't need much, me."

"Okay."

They hesitated. Karen wondered if he was going to ask her to share the bed with him and for a second or two, she thought he might .... and if he did, she did not think she would say no to him. She had meant what she'd announced when she quit her job at Baker, Baker and Davison. But then he ran his hand down her arm and kissed her.

"See you in the morning, Kaz."

"Sleep well."

"You too."

"If you get chilly, there's extra blankets in the bottom of the wardrobe."

"I'll remember that." He squeezed her hand and headed off into his room. 

Karen walked to her doorway. She glanced back as he closed his door halfway, shooting her another quick smile. Karen flicked on her light and gently shut her door. Leaned against it.

Okay. 

Okay, there was a man in her house after hours.

And he was very, very sexy.

Her parents had no idea.

He was ... just over there.

Karen turned and pressed her ear against the door. Was he undressing? She listened closely. There was a soft thump which she assumed was his suitcase going on the floor. Yes. Those were the latches lifting. Karen hardly dared breathe as she listened, even going so far as to open her door a crack. She heard muffled movement through the half-closed door, yellow light spilling on to the landing in an elongated triangle. A shape passed by the light and Karen automatically reared back, closing her door quietly. He was getting undressed, she was sure of it. In the pyjamas she'd glimpsed earlier when he'd passed her the wine. Did he keep his underwear on beneath his pyjama pants? 

She drummed her fingers against her lips and walked away from the door. The rug on the floor welled up between her toes. Karen stopped in the centre of it and looked over her shoulder. What was he doing now? 

Karen shook her head. She was being silly. She pulled down the zipper of her dress and hung it up. Karen arranged it carefully on the hanger and fit it neatly in amongst her other clothes. On the landing there was a creak - he'd left the guest bedroom! Karen listened closely, afraid and hopeful that he might be coming to knock on her door ... but his footsteps faded into the bathroom instead. With a sigh, she left her dress alone and put on her white babydoll nightie. She sat at the stool before her dressing table and brushed her hair, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

A few minutes later she heard him returning to the guest room. Karen counted to twenty, tapping the back of her hairbrush beneath her chin before she let herself rise. She crept like a criminal in her own house to the bathroom and wondered where her nerve was ... and if it would come back.

She didn't _have_ to do do anything if she didn't want to. They had all day tomorrow and tomorrow night ... perhaps she should just get some sleep and let herself grow used to his presence in the house. She had been completely relaxed with him being around while she was with him. It was different now. 

What sealed Karen's decision was the knowledge that there was no way she'd be able to sleep if she didn't do _something_. She would lie in bed for hours, wondering what he was doing or thinking, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. There was only one fix for this - she had to go in there. And still nothing had to happen if she changed her mind, surely. So she went to his door instead of her own.

Karen knocked softly, the door left partially open as if it were an invitation. She peered around it. Matt was sitting up in bed in blue-striped pyjamas. The blankets were drawn over his legs. The bedside lamp was on and so were his reading glasses. A book lay in his lap.

"Hey," he said, looking over the top of his glasses at her. "Come in."

"Ta," she squeezed into the room. It never occurred to her to open the door properly. She didn't want to disturb anything. 

Karen saw him take stock of her once her body was in full view. Her babydoll nightie was short, hemming in ruffles a few inches over the knee. It had no sleeves and a lower neckline than the dresses she ordinarily wore out, with ribbon lacing up the bodice and tied in a bow at her bust. It was completely inappropriate to wear in front of a man who wasn't ... well, wasn't her husband, really. She would not have even worn it without a robe in before father. It was quite obvious to Karen that Matt liked what he saw. He stared, mouth slightly open. Then he coughed and shifted his lower half in bed.

"May I ..?" She gestured nervously to it.

Matt quickly pulled the covers down on one side. "Of course. Yeah."

Karen had never slept in this bed before, which seemed funny now, since it had always been there. She hopped into the bed, the sheets cool against her bare legs. She tugged down her nightie to cover herself decently as Matt pulled the covers over her. He gathered her into his arms.

"What are you reading?" She asked, peering down at his book.

He flipped it to show her the cover. " _Jane Eyre_."

"We've got a copy that looks just like that."

"It _is_ your copy. I found in the windowsill."

"Oh," she laughed. "Is it good? I never read it."

"No idea. I was getting into it when some nosy ginger distracted me."

"Fibber," Karen nudged his side, "you've been listening out and wondering if I was going to come in."

"Might've been, yeah. So...." he closed the book and put it aside. Removed his glasses, and set them on the cover. His fingers were drawing the lightest of circles on her bare shoulder. "...guessing you're not here for a bedtime story."

Her heart was fluttering wildly. "Thought you might be scared."

"Oh yeah?" He turned them both slightly so they were face to face. His other hand rested on the blankets at her hip. "That's very sweet of you. Why would I be scared?"

"Strange houses make strange noises. Sometimes branches scratch the windows."

Matt's eyes dropped to her lips, lingered, and then continued down her neck and to the curve of her breast. He didn't bother to hide it; he looked openly. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not."

He gave a gentle laugh. It wasn't mean or condescending, but it was obvious he did not for a moment believe her. "Okay, you're not nervous then. Do - "

"Yes."

"What?"

"I know what you were going to ask."

He did not look as though he were convinced of that, but he blessedly let it go. It felt formal enough as it was. Karen didn't want to spell it out anymore. Perhaps Matt understood that, because when his lips found hers they stayed there. Their kisses were long, slow, deep. It woke up sensations that came to life when he was close to her, a heat which spread and tingled throughout her entire body. It accelerated the longer they kissed, and soon his body was pressed against hers. Their hands wandered, exploring one another, and she was acutely aware of the flimsiness of her nightie and the fact that she wore nothing beneath it. Karen could feel him hard against her thigh; it fascinated her. When she rolled her hips he moaned.

That gave her confidence. Karen started taking more control of the kiss, sensing Matt held back for her sake. He was probably afraid he'd frighten her off if he pushed too hard too fast. When she changed the tempo he gladly adjusted. His hand found its way to her breast, his breath shuddering against her lips as he massaged it. 

"Karen, if we keep going ..." His forehead leaned against hers. They both watched as he untied the ribbon and loosened the bodice until he could slide his hand inside her nightie. His warm, slightly rough hand covered her breast. Her nipple was a hard bud against his palm. "...if we keep going I ... need to know where you want to stop." 

Somehow, they had shifted so she lay beneath him, his knee between her legs. She didn't remember that happening. Karen started to unbutton his pyjama top.

"I don't want to stop."

That was, apparently, all he needed to hear. He kissed her until she was dazed, breaking only when he shrugged out of his pyjama top. He was broader than she expected underneath his clothes and curious, she ran her hands over his chest. She leaned in and kissed the hollow of his throat. He shuddered and it thrilled her that she could do that to him. Hands roamed and kisses landed everywhere. Her body was engulfed in a yearning heat she hardly understood, only knowing that his touch alone could soothe it. She actually _ached_ for him. Her nervousness evaporated. She kept coming back to the same surreal realisation: _this was actually happening!_

"You've not got ... any knickers on ..." Matt mumbled, feeling her from thigh to hip. "What are you trying to do to me?"

He managed to be both gentle and demanding all at once. She could never have explained how Matt balanced it; it didn't matter how he touched her or with what force he kissed her, she felt safe in his hands. He rocked himself against her, pressed tight between her legs. It was as good as when he'd touched her in the car, in that particular way he pressed against her.

"Oh don't stop," she whispered, holding tight to him. She thought perhaps, perhaps she might reach that feeling he'd described before, that sensation just out of reach ... but it again plateaued, and immediately after he stopped.

"Kaz, I can't, if I keep doing that I'll come right now."

"So?"

He laughed and rolled over, reaching down the side of the bed. "We'd have to wait awhile until I could do it again."

"Oh." Pause. "How long?"

"Too long."

He had a small, square packet in his hands when he came back. Karen knew what it was. Oh god. This really was happening. Right now. It was happening. To _her_. 

"Are you sure about this?" He asked, glancing at her. He was already opening the packet.

Karen nodded. "I started taking that pill, too. The new one."

"When'd you do that?"

"After our first time out. My friend knew a doctor ..." she trailed off and watched as he took off his pyjama pants. Question answered: he wore no underwear. This was the first proper, good look she'd had at him like this ... it had been far too dark in the car to make out any details. She had seen pictures in books but nothing in real life. Matt didn't seem to mind her staring as he rolled the latex over his cock. It stretched like a second skin over him and she wished she'd thought to touch him again before he put it on. She stroked her forefinger against the length. His breathing grew ragged. It felt quite different now to how it had in the car, and she wished it were not so necessary. 

Matt rolled her on to the bed, resting his weight against her. She glanced down between them again, not having had her fill of looking. "Are you big? You look big."

"I can't believe you just asked me that," he laughed, kissing her neck.

"Why not? It's a simple question."

"And one every bloke is going to say 'yes' to whether or not it's true."

"So are you?"

"Yes."

"Are you really?"

He looked up, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Yes."

She made a face, entertained and suspicious. He laughed again and kissed her until she forgot about it, until the ache between her legs seemed unbearable. She was almost embarrassed by how wet she was when he reached down and stroked her with his long, shapely fingers. He pressed two inside of her and rubbed her inside walls.

"Will it hurt?" Karen couldn't help asking, though she had sworn to herself she would be brave and keep quiet about that part.

Matt looked up. She was almost startled by the desire she saw in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her like that before, his cheeks flushed and his lips parted. He wet them. "A bit."

"I want to," she said. It was a hopelessly inarticulate way of saying everything she in this state could not properly put to voice: she was ready, she wanted him, she needed something from him she'd never known she was missing. It did not feel like a pivotal moment in her life, nothing grand or transitional. She had not expected it to. What she felt was all she had ever wanted from this: that it was right.

Karen felt his cock against her and a second later she gasped sharply. He pushed in. A spike of pain blossomed then ebbed; she nodded, and he kept going. She gasped around the pain. It faded and she realised she was not so much in pain as she was in discomfort. It felt awkward, not complete or magical having him inside of her. Matt held steady and even she, with her limited knowledge, knew that had to take great control. He stroked her cheek, kissed her.

"All right?"

"Okay."

Karen bit her lip as he began to move. It was, again, uncomfortable. Now and then he pushed too fast and she felt a fresh spike of pain, but it was not as bad as the first time. Her thighs soon began to ache from remaining in such an unusual position. She held on to him.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly when he came. Karen was too inexperienced and distracted by the greater discomfort caused by the faster thrusting leading up to it. She was glad when it was over, though she didn't feel disappointment or regret. Karen knew it was ... different, the first time. She had been promised it got better. As Matt carefully drew out of her and removed the condom she thought, _is that it?_

Okay, so she was told it got better. How much better? And when? Why was everyone always banging on about sex - was that it?

"You look confused," Matt said, stroking hair away from her face. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Just ... thinking."

He kissed her forehead. "It gets better." Pause. "I guess you didn't like that much."

"No, I ..." Karen thought it over. "It was ... uncomfortable. But I liked having you in me. I liked that. I did."

"Good," he smiled and settled down beside her. He was breathing heavily, she realised, his chest rising and falling. "We'll keep going until you see what it's really all about."

That sounded like a better idea. Karen moved toward him. Her thighs rubbed together and she frowned, lifting the covers and peering down. 

Oh god. She forgot that part ... Karen sat up so quickly that she startled Matt. She flushed with embarrassment. "I ..."

He seemed to have forgotten it too, reminded only when he glanced down before she was able to stop him. "Hey," he was quick to soothe, "it's all right, it's normal ..." 

"I know," she said, wanting to crawl in a hole and die from embarrassment. "Can you just ... close your eyes for me while I um, sort myself out here ..."

She fled to the bathroom. On closer inspection, there was not quite as much blood as she initially thought. Karen took a long time to clean herself up and made sure it was over. She'd asked if sex was always so messy. He'd said it was, but this was a whole different kind of mess. Karen stuffed her white nightie away in her bedroom to deal with later and put on a fresh blue one ... and a pair of knickers this time, just in case.

Matt actually looked worried when she came back. And, if she wasn't mistaken, relieved that she had. She climbed into bed with him and was grateful to find the sheets clean. 

"Karen - "

"Oh please, can we never talk about that again?"

"...okay." He sounded relieved about _that_ , too. Matt pulled her to his side and they settled down together. After a moment or two, he switched off the lamp.

"Do you feel different?" He whispered to her.

Karen thought about it for a few moments. "I don't know. Maybe not yet. I feel the same just ... okay, maybe a bit different. I'm glad it was you."

"Me too," he said, stroking her arm, "though I admit, I worried about it a bit. Felt like a lot of responsibility. Didn't want to let you down."

"You didn't."

"Good."

She rested her hand on his side and realised he'd put his pyjama bottoms back on. She felt a stab of disappointment for it, but since she'd changed nighties it seemed hypocritical to resent it. 

Over the last week she'd wondered how it would feel to sleep beside him. She had never slept next to anyone who wasn't family. Karen had thought it would be awkward, that she wouldn't know where to put her arms and legs. Yet her body seemed to know what to do all on its own, and she curled comfortably beside him. 

"Do you hurt at all?" Matt murmured, sounding as sleepy as she felt. His fingers slowed, and stopped moving upon her arm.

"No," she lied, because she did hurt a little ... but she didn't want to make a fuss over it. She hated fussing. "Can I sleep here with you?"

His arm tightened around her. "Wouldn't have you anywhere else."


	12. The Lucky Kind

Branches scraped at the window, just as Karen said they would. They woke Matt. He had no idea what the hour was, but it was very dark in the bedroom. Karen's warm, supple body was against his, her arm flung over his chest. She was taking up a good deal of the bed, actually. When he moved his leg it came into immediate contact with hers. 

Matt turned his head toward the window. His hand came up to rest on Karen's wrist. The wind had picked up outside, violently - he did not remember hearing it before they went to sleep. The branches scraped relentlessly against the glass. It was quite spooky, hearing that, lying in this strange bed.

He was, unfortunately, unable to go back to sleep. He was warm and tired and began resent the tree outside for keeping him up. He entertained fantasies of going outdoors and chopping it down with an axe. He winced when he heard the low rumble of approaching thunder. It did not look as though the wind would die any time soon; a storm was rolling in. Lightning danced behind the drapes, lighting up the room in jagged flashes.

Karen slept until it was directly on top of them. One great clap woke her. She twisted off him and sat up with a sharp gasp.

"Hey, s'right," Matt murmured, reaching for her in the dark. His hand clasped her elbow and he pulled her down. She went willingly, still half asleep, and curled into his side. Rain hammered on the roof. He thought she went straight back to sleep.

"I said you might get scared," Karen murmured.

He laughed quietly. "I'm not scared. Are you?" No answer. "Kaz?"

So she had gone back to sleep after all. He didn't quite understand that, since thunder still rumbled, wind howled, and rain thrashed the rooftop. Obviously not that scared, then. He lay in the cosy dark and listened to the storm pass them over, counting the seconds between the thunder to gauge how far it had gone. He was mid-count when he fell asleep again at last.

Many hours later when he woke the storm was over. Rain still pattered, gentler than before, and a grey light shaped the window. Karen was fast asleep on her stomach and this time she had kept her arms and legs to herself. He lay and waited for her to wake up. 

Last night had been good. He had to admit, the arrangement had made him a little uncomfortable in the beginning. She invited him over to stay and put him in a separate bedroom - he'd wondered if they'd gotten their wires crossed. Yet the formality hadn't lasted, and soon it had been as relaxed between them as it ever was. Bar a few terrible choices in her record collection (how she could like both the Animals _and_ Herman's Hermits was beyond him) he'd had a great night of music and dancing. At one point during the evening she emptied the ashtray and Matt felt a weird, though not unpleasant, jolt of domesticity. 

She was so innocent. He hadn't taken a girl's virginity since he lost his. She had felt ... incredible. Karen was every bit as keen as he'd told David - and Matt was only too happy to indulge her. It was also rather refreshing not to have a bird bossing him around in bed. Some of them were so domineering, burned by bad lovers, and completely unwilling to let him show that he could be different. He knew many blokes couldn't give two tosses about the girl's side of it and weren't willing to learn. Matt wanted to show them a good time - if only to impress them enough that they might tell their friends. A good reputation in bed never hurt anybody, and birds liked to talk.

His thoughts drifted back to Karen. She had everything. Her parents' house was appointed with state-of-the-art technology. He didn't even recognise most of the appliances in the kitchen. The cooler shelves actually _swung out._ Her father had crystal decanters of brandy on the sideboard and there was not thing out of place. Except for him.

He could've teased her about it but held himself back. Matt had begun to get the measure of Karen. She had gone to such lengths to find work and gain some independence away from her father's comfortable wealth. It would be cruel to link her to it when she was obviously trying so hard to make her own way. Or nearly - she hadn't moved out yet. That would be the next step, he presumed.

Time passed and still Karen didn't wake. The grey light grew brighter. Matt sat up and leaned against the headboard. He picked up his packet of Embassies, lit one, and smoked. The rain was soothing. If Karen didn't wake up soon he thought he might lie down and try for a bit more sleep. And that was, of course, when she stirred.

She came around slowly, breathing deep, raising her eyes to look at him. Matt smiled down at her. "Good morning." He stubbed out what was left of his cigarette.

"Hi," she turned on to her back and rubbed her eyes. "Was there a storm last night or did I dream that?"

"It stormed. You slept through practically all of it."

She laughed. "I'm a heavy sleeper. Mm. This is strange. There's a man in my bed. And this isn't my bed."

"Yeah, you're a proper slag now," he grinned down at her. It earned him a scorching glare and a hard slap to his thigh. His skin stung, but he refused to make a noise. "Ooh, you're so tough." 

Karen slapped him harder, on exactly the same place. This time he could not hide his grimace. 

"Okay, okay, you're tough!"

She tugged his wrist until he lay back down beside her. She gathered her hands against his chest. "Last night was fun."

"Yeah, it really was. Are you sore?"

"I think so. A bit. It's not bad."

"Good." He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "No regrets?"

"None." She kissed him lightly and ran her thumb along his jaw. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

Karen kissed him again, deeper than before. "Come on, then." 

She pulled away just as other parts of him were starting to wake up. Karen climbed out of bed in her short, soft little nightie. Matt followed suit and pulled on his pyjamas.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Karen called, wandering out of the room and over to hers. 

Matt opened the drapes. It was a miserable, grey, rainy day. "Don't mind! What've you got?" He called back.

"I can do eggs! Big fry-up if you like! Bacon, sausage? Beans? Toast?"

"That all sounds good!" 

They headed out to the landing at the same time. Karen had put on a quilted blue robe and a pair of slippers. She ran her fingers through her hair and disappeared into the bathroom. "I'll start something in a minute."

While she was in the bathroom Matt crossed quietly to her door. He peered inside her bedroom. Feminine, well appointed, both teenage and adult. There were dresses strewn over her bed. He wondered how many she had tried on before he had arrived.

He took his turn in the bathroom once she was out, then met her downstairs a few minutes later. She had eggs, bacon, sausages and other breakfast things laid out upon the counter. Matt paused in the doorway and watched her preparing the meal. She looked relaxed, content. Perfect, if he was going to go there. Mrs. Shaw never looked half this good when she made him breakfast!

They drank their tea and ate breakfast at the kitchen table. Karen cooked eggs runnier than he preferred, but it was nice the way the yolks sank into the thick toast and mixed with the beans. They took breakfast in almost total silence ... but it didn't feel uncomfortable. Matt read yesterday's newspaper (with a little difficulty, since his glasses were upstairs) and Karen leafed through a copy of British Vogue. He didn't normally feel so comfortable so quickly around somebody else. She might live in a posh house with difficult parents, but Karen was herself uncomplicated.

The morning passed. They took turns in the shower and played more music. Karen taught him how to play Canasta, even though she said it wasn't much good with just two people. He taught her how to to play Blackjack. 

After a lunch of bacon butties, Matt finally remembered that he'd bought along his guitar. Karen insisted they settle in her room with an improved jug of lemonade. She began picking up the dresses and hanging them while Matt unlatched the case. He sat cross-legged against her bed head and tuned the guitar.

"Not as much room," he pointed out, taking a sip from the glass. The lemonade was now a little too sweet for his tastes. 

"I want you in here," Karen said, straightening her dresses. "The rest of the house ... it's fine. But this is my space and I want you in it."

"Understood. I like your portable record player. It's cute."

"Sound's not so great though," said Karen. She curled up at the end of her bed, hand supporting her head. The window was covered with raindrops. "Tinny compared to the one downstairs."

"So what do you want me to play?"

"What can you play?"

Matt paused, then laughed. "Reminds me of that old song. _I am the music man, I come from outer space and I can play..._ "

Karen laughed - she knew it too. " _What can you play?_ "

" _I can play the acoustic guitar._ "

"I can play piano," Karen brightly informed him. "I'm really good!"

"Are you? You can play for me later then. How about ..." he thought for a moment or two, and then started to play the Beatles' _Things We Said Today._ Karen recognised it immediately and he saw her mouth fall open as he played and sang, note perfect.

"How do you know that, that's only been out a few weeks!"

Matt had spent the last week learning it. He shrugged. "I've got a good ear."

"That's amazing. That's so good. Sing it again!"

"Nah, how about ..." He started playing _I'll Be Back_ , off the same album. This cover was rougher and less perfect, having spent most of his time learning _Things We Said Today._  

Karen's response was even more flabbergasted and impressed second time round. "I can't believe you! You're so good! Why didn't you tell me this before!"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I dunno."

"Voice isn't half bad either. You're _really_ good." She looked at him out the corners of her eyes. "You said you didn't really like the Beatles."

"I don't _not_ like them," he clarified, "I just don't go as crazy for them like everyone else does. But they've some lovely melodies."

That was something he'd only paid mind to when he started learning their music.

Matt didn't have a lot of time to spend learning new tunes, mainly due to dutiful preoccupation with work. Most of the songs he'd memorised belonged to the fifties. He played every rock n' roll song he had in his catalogue and when he exhausted them, Karen called for repeat performances of her favourites.

Eventually, he put the guitar aside. He finished off the too-sweet lemonade and dragged his fingers through his hair. "This is the bit where you applaud wildly and throw your knickers at me."

"My rapt adoration for the last hour hasn't been enough?" Karen asked, crawling up the bed. She sat between his legs and leaned against his chest. He hugged her to him.

Matt chuckled into her neck. "Impressed yet?"

"Very." Karen turned her head so she could see him. "What do you want to do for the rest of the afternoon?"

The rain wasn't giving up. That ruled out going outside and Matt was only too happy for it to mean they didn't go _anywhere._ Their next opportunity to be alone together might be a long way away. He loosened his grip around her and allowed his hands to wander, watching her face, waiting for her to get it.

"Oh!" It didn't take her long. He felt Karen adjust herself slightly as his hands moved over her breasts. He adored the way she gazed at him; curious, eager, that unreserved desire which had her wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. 

He bent his head to kiss her, growling softly into it as he started tugging her dress up. The thought of what he wanted to do to her was enough to make him hard against her back.

"Wait, don't we need - ?"

"Not for this," he murmured into her mouth. He lifted one hand to stroke her neck. "Different."

Matt's kiss beautifully muffled her moan as his fingers moved between her legs. He pressed his palm against one of her thighs.

"Wider."

Shyness made her slow to respond. That was going to take some getting over, he realised. He still hadn't seen her properly naked. However he was patient, and trusted that would change once she got used to the idea of being seen and touched. He kissed her as he splayed one leg as wide as he wanted it, then did the same thing to the other. 

"This," he murmured, tracing the elastic of her knickers while he spoke, "is about working out just ... what you ... like."

"Why do you want to do that?"

He smirked and let his fingers drift over her clit through her cotton knickers. He felt a shudder pass through her body. "Do you ever touch yourself like this? Hm? Don't be shy."

"Um ... sometimes ..."

"But you've never come?"

"I don't know ... how do you tell?"

He hooked one finger beneath the elastic, lifting it, dragging it back and forth. "Trust me, you'd know."

Matt started kissing her slowly, yet somewhat distractedly. He was focused on his hand between her legs and her every response. Gradually, he felt the tension leaving her body as arousal took her over. She sagged against him, her breathing deep and irregular, sometimes enriched with a whimper or moan. So far, all he had done was gently explore. His fingers were inside her knickers and slid against her folds, learning her. Karen was gripping his arm. Her hips began to wiggle - she wanted more.

Her head tipped back against his shoulder, taking shuddering breaths while his finger traced her clit. Her thighs started to come together - perhaps she intended to hold his hand between them, instinct calling her to act.  

"Legs open," he firmly reminded her. He kissed her ear and whispered, "do you need more?"

Karen nodded fervently. "Yes. More."

"Bring your hand down here."

Matt had expected her to refuse that. Or at least blush until she came around to the idea. After all this time, however, she was still full of surprises. Her hand moved into her knickers. He centered her fingers over her clit.

"Show me what you like."

He looked over Karen's shoulder as she touched herself. The sight was enough to make his mouth go dry and his cock ache demandingly in his trousers. He loved watching a woman feel herself - so few of them were willing to show him. Karen writhed against him making beautiful, breathy little whimpers. Matt let one of his hands massage her breast while the other, still inside her knickers, moved lower. He could've had these off before they'd gotten so carried away; but he liked having her wear them. It turned him on being able to feel and smell her without being able to see quite everything. 

Karen gasped jaggedly as he stiffened two fingers and pushed them inside her. She squeezed his arm, pulled herself together, and began rubbing herself again. Matt curled his fingers and stroked her insides in time to the pace she set.

It took time. On a few occasions she got close but still didn't quite make it; she moaned and writhed. Grew rapidly desperate. She was overtaken by a fit of laughter at one point, astonished by the intensity of what she felt, and needing the laughter as an outlet until they attained the one they aimed for. She left her inhibitions far behind. Every time she moved or rocked her hips he moaned. He tried different things with his fingers, added a third, thrusted them within her. Matt kissed her lips, kissed her neck. She tasted of sweat, and her arm bent behind his head to sink her fingers into his hair. 

Matt pressed his lips to her neck as her cries steadily rose and she finally broke through. The pain of her fingers in his hair felt so, so good, as did the muscle contractions around his fingers. He withdrew them slowly as she lay shuddering and panting, speechless with what she had experienced. Karen watched him raise his fingers and suck them clean. 

"That was ... I've never felt _anything_ ... Matt ..."

"Good?" He chuckled, pulling her dress down. Her legs were already back together in a tangled, hopeless heap.

"Oh good ... yes ... is that - is that what it's like for you?"

"Something like that I guess, yeah."

Karen swallowed hard and lay bonelessly against his body. She said, "I can still feel it. All these little spasms ... inside." She tilted her head to see him. "Thank you."

"Welcome." He rubbed her back. "You're all smiley."

"I feel all smiley."

"It'll get easier. Won't always take so long."

"How long does it take you?"

"By myself?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno ... five minutes if I'm rushing, I guess."

" _Five minutes?_ "

He shrugged. "Not a big deal. Do you want me to show you?"

Karen thought about it for a second or two. "No could we try ... I want to try sex again," she said, with a touch of that old, awkward uncertainty.

There was no way he was going to refuse that. Karen moved out of his arms and sat up, pulling her dress up over her head. She cast it aside while he took off his shirt and unbuttoned his trousers. Suddenly, waiting was unbearable. He was fully aware of how hard and aching he was, enduring a long wait making her come. He seized Karen and flipped her on to her back. She started laughing again.

Her laughter dried up once he got her knickers off and his trousers and underwear down. Matt kissed down her bare shoulders, between her breasts, swiping his tongue where her skin met the bra cup. 

"Wait, wait, wait!"

He looked up, confused at her protest. Then he remembered.

"Oh shit. Right. Yeah. Sorry."

He fumbled for his pocket, which was a lot further down than it normally was. He pulled out the condom packet.

"What are they doing, just handy in your pocket like that?" She laughed.

"Thought we might need them."

"Cheeky."

"Would you rather I leave and try to find other ones in my suitcase?"

"No. How many did you _bring?_ "

"Enough!"

This time, when he pushed himself inside of her, there was none of the gasping pain and tension. Karen was wetter, more relaxed, readier. Matt didn't have to be as careful - though he was not rough, mindful that this was all new. He rocked his hips against hers.

"Better this time?"

"Still kind of ... uncomfortable ... but it doesn't hurt," Karen said. 

He came quickly after such a wait. He lay against her breast, still buried within her, and caught his breath. Her fingers toyed lightly with his hair. After a few minutes he remembered she had told him it was still uncomfortable, and pulled out. He carefully removed the condom, twisted the end, and put it on the floor. Matt rolled his weight off her and lay on his side. Karen curled up against him and traced patterns on his abdomen with her fingers. It was nice to begin with, but soon it began to tickle and took her by the wrist.

"I should start dinner," she said with a sigh. "Are chops all right?"

"Mm-hm," he pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'll help. I'm not completely hopeless at cooking, me."

"Oh yeah, what can you do?"

"I can peel potatoes."

"It's an important life skill, that. If we're quick enough we can eat it while we're watching _Doctor Who_."

"Ohh yeah, it's Saturday isn't it!"

Dinner was eaten in front of the television, plates balanced in laps. Karen said it was breaking her father's fundamental rule of eating in the living room. She grinned while she explained, scooping up mashed potato. Matt got the feeling that domineering though her father might be, Karen probably didn't make things easier on herself. After _Doctor Who_ ended they ate her mother's peach icecream which was excellent, considering he wasn't much of an icecream person.

Matt and Karen retired to bed early. A day of lazing about and doing nothing had caught up with them - they couldn't be bothered doing anything except crawling into the guest bed. They lay, entwined, chatting idly. 

"Why'd you become an architect?" Karen asked.

"Hmm..." he stroked her arm, "I was good with numbers. Not bad with a pencil, though I wasn't much good at drawing pictures, if you know what I mean. One of my teachers suggested it might be good for me. Idea got stuck in my head I suppose and it just kind of went from there." Matt tucked his hand beneath his head. "It's sort of satisfying, you know. Calculating angles. Being there from the start, seeing something you helped draft going up. Gets boring too. I'd like to get properly into design rather than just following someone's specs."

"You'd be good at it," Karen said loyally. "You're always working so hard."

"Trying to get noticed. Mind, if that doesn't happen soon, I might look around elsewhere. Don't want to wait there forever. I want to get promoted before I'm thirty. That's my goal. What about you, Kaz? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

She laughed and thought it over. "Successful."

"In what though?"

"Everything I do?"

"That's a good goal," he conceded, "but what do you want to do?"

"...everything?"

Matt gave her a little squeeze and chuckled. "That's the closest I'm going to get to a proper answer, isn't it."

"It _is_ a proper answer! Just don't quite know what I want to do yet. I sort of like making it up as I go."

"Not me," said Matt, "I've got my plan."

"Promoted before you're thirty. What else?"

He didn't want to tell her everything in his plan: it was quite dear to him. Matt intended to marry when he was around thirty, give or take a couple of years. Have kids; two, perhaps three, depending on his wage. Buy a house in North London, upgrade the car and one day, maybe run his own company. 

"All sorts of things," he replied, and Karen didn't push it.

The next morning was almost offensively sunny after the rainy Saturday. Matt and Karen had a late breakfast after a long lie-in. Karen had refused to let him up until they had sex again. 

"You're insatiable," he'd muttered to her, exploring the warm, soft skin beneath her nightie.

"I've had a long time to think about it," Karen had replied, and he'd groaned when her hand slipped between his legs.

They played her music loudly downstairs and didn't bother to dress. Karen danced in her babydoll nightie, full of laughter and mischief. She had stolen his reading glasses and perched them on her nose.

"Do they suit me?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.

Karen held up her hand in front of her eyes, turning it. "It's blurry. Why don't they suit me?"

"Because you're an idiot, Karen. Give me my glasses back, you're infecting them."

"With what? Girl germs?"

"Idiot germs."

"Come and get them."

Karen backed out of the living room and into the hall, grinning. He followed, stalking his prey. Matt knew it would be smarter just to let her keep them rather than fight and risk breakage ... but where was the fun in that? They circled one another, carefully, Matt in his pyjama pants and vest and Karen pushing his glasses up the bridge of her nose.

She suddenly giggled and broke as if to go upstairs. Matt lunged forward and seized her around the waist, lifting her amidst shrieks and laughter into his arms. Her back was against his chest, hands pressing to his forearms.

"Give me back my glasses!" He cried, bent slightly backwards to bear her weight.

"No! They're mine now!"

The front door opened.

The look on Karen's parents' faces would have been hilarious under any other circumstance. They gaped in surprise. Her mother had been in the middle of removing her gloves and froze with one off and one on; her father dropped the suitcase with a thud.

Matt slowly leaned forward until Karen's bare feet were on the floor. Still wearing his glasses, she cheerfully said, "You're home early!"


	13. My Sort

The cheerfulness Karen projected was a barrier against the cold panic clenching her heart. She didn't have to imagine how her parents felt about this - she could see it on their faces. If she were to make a list of things she could do to make them angriest this would go right to the top. Karen was pretty sure setting the house on fire was a distant second.

She observed her father turn his wrist and read the time. It was almost midday. It was her mother who acted first, however. She yanked off her remaining glove and ushered her husband indoors, firmly closing the front door behind them.

"Karen. What is this?" Her father asked in the low tones that used to send her directly into floods of tears as a little girl. She stiffened her spine. He couldn't get to her like that anymore, and certainly not when she had Matt quite literally at her back. 

"I asked Matt to stay with me while you were away." She considered adding that it was because she didn't feel safe; but that was an outright lie and she didn't want to hide behind it.

Her father's gaze flickered to Matt. "And now you're cavorting around the house in your night-things?"

_Cavorting_ was such a dramatic word, but her father was basically correct. If she wanted to clarify she could've said, _no Dad, we were dancing, wrestling and snogging._ Karen chose to nod. In retrospect it seemed like an equally poor choice of response from the way her father's gaze bored into her.

Her mother pointed up the stairs. "Both of you, get dressed."

Karen turned her back on them and gave Matt an exaggerated 'oh dear!' look. She tried to take his hand as they went upstairs without being obvious. When they reached the landing and were out of view she realised why she hadn't found it - Matt was angry with her.

"Did you know they were coming home this early?" Matt whispered, livid.

Karen blanched. "No!"

"Honestly, Karen. Did you know?"

"No!"

Matt nodded curtly and glanced downstairs. It sounded like her parents were moving into the drawing room. Matt turned into the guest room to change and presumably pack before another word could be exchanged, leaving Karen staring after him. She did not set this up! Why would she? More irritated than worried, she pivoted and went into her own room to dress.

Karen pulled on a patterned dress and a pair of flats. She brushed her hair and opened her bedroom door. Matt's was open now too, and she crept over to peer inside.

"I thought they were coming home at four," she insisted as loud as she dared.

Matt glanced at her as he latched his suitcase. He didn't look convinced. "Yeah, all right."

"Why would I lie? Why would I want them to catch us?"

"I dunno."

His attitude made her feel sick. She _hadn't_ known, and his insinuation that it was any different both angered and worried her. She was still eager to impress him, to measure up to the image that she thought suited him as his girlfriend. Her parents did not factor into the cool image she wanted to attain. 

"Just go straight away," she encouraged as Matt picked up his bags. "They're not going to want you here and I can handle it."

"I'm not just walking out," Matt answered tersely, "leaving you to face them on your own. What do you think I am?"

"I didn't _mean_ that! Will you stop thinking the worst! I'm just trying to make the best of it!"

"You could've done that by getting your times right."

"How was I supposed to know they changed?! Just go, I said I can handle it, they're _my_ parents."

"Yes, Karen, they are, and you should remember that more often."

She had no idea what he meant by that. Of _course_ she remembered they were her parents. How exactly was she supposed to forget when she saw them every single day? She was getting nowhere with Matt. What did he have to be so cross anyway - he could just go, like she said, she was the one who was going to cop it! 

Karen made a disgusted little noise and went downstairs. She could hear Matt close behind her. He put his cases down by the front door as Karen entered the drawing room.

"How was Grandma?" She asked, linking her fingers behind her back.

The mood was grim. Her father was standing, arms crossed, every bit as intimidating as the echo of her childhood. Karen's mother was perched on the arm of the sofa. Karen looked to her for some sympathy or understanding and saw none; that was a greater shock than her father's fury. She had grown used to having her mother serve as a supportive buffer.

"You know you didn't have permission for this, Karen," her father began, managing to keep his voice under control. "You did not discuss this with us before we left!"

Matt cleared his throat. "Mr. Gillan ... Mrs. Gillan ... I apologise - "

"Matt didn't know he didn't have your permission to be here," Karen hastily interrupted, "he thought it was all right, so don't be mad at him, it's my fa- "

"No, I knew," Matt said firmly. "And I am sorry for that. Please, accept my apology."

That threw all three Gillans off guard. Her father was the only one to acknowledge it, however, and did so with a curt nod. "Appreciated. Now if you'd not mind leaving - there are things we need to discuss with our daughter."

Matt looked at Karen and for the first time since her parents had come home, his expression softened. The he nodded to her father. "Of course." To Karen he added, "I'll telephone later."

"No, you won't," Karen's father said. "This has gone far enough. You're not welcome here again and I'd just as soon not have you phoning or taking Karen out."

"Dad!"

"May I say something?'

Matt spoke with such surprising, cool command that he dominated their attention. The anger Karen had glimpsed earlier was far from gone. It simmered beneath the surface. "Mr. Gillan, I care about your daughter. I would never do anything to compromise her or bring her ... reputation into disrepute. I'm quite serious about her. Please don't do this. We disrespected you, I understand that and we are _both_ sorry," firm glance to Karen, "but your daughter is twenty and she _can_ do what she likes and I rather think she _will,_ so please don't - "

"You dare tell me what to do! You dare think you know my daughter better than me?"

"I'm right here," Karen said, waving her hand.

"You don't know anything about my daughter except what you want to see.  I was your age. I know. And if I give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you do care deeply for her then that is so much the _worse._  She is not for you, or your sort."

" _Dad!_ "

" _My_ sort?" Matt repeated, pointing at himself. For a second it seemed he was about to explode and give her father what-for. Karen dreaded it and her father was anticipating it, eager for any new excuse to vent his rage. But then Matt reined in his temper and straightened his back. "Class war. The world is changing Mr. Gillan, whether you want it to or not. And _my_ sort ... we'll soon be running it."

Matt turned and walked out. Karen immediately tensed to follow but a sudden shout from her father stilled her feet as though they were rooted to the floor.

" _Karen you stay where you are!_ "

Now she was in for it. Matt was gone and so was their alternate target for their anger. Karen crossed her arms over her chest and braced herself.

"Oh Karen, have some humility!" Her mother moaned, gesturing at her. "How dare you stand there like we're inconveniencing you!"

"I am twenty -"

"Then act it!" Her mother shouted at the same time her father yelled, "You're living under my roof!"

Silence.

"Karen, where did he sleep?" Her mother asked cautiously, eyes combing the floor.

"In the guest room!" Karen answered.

"And where did you sleep?"

Karen was still undecided of what she would lie about. She hesitated and that was all her parents needed to hear. Everything went to hell. Her parents took turns. Karen's father went on about disrespect and reputations; her mother used her time to moan and try to prise reasons out of Karen - she seemed to like the idea that Matt had somehow made her do it. When it became apparent that everything had been Karen's idea it only got worse.

"You're just set against him because you didn't pick him out for me!" Karen exclaimed well into the argument, tears of frustration pricking her eyes. "This isn't the olden days!" 

"It's one ridiculous notion after another with you!" Her father scoffed, very red in the face and at the end of his tether. "Working and all these ridiculous ideas going around these days ... it won't last, none of it, and it'll come to no good - it's that cafe, Marie, that's where it all started, that bloody beatnik!"

"No, don't you start on Mr. Capaldi," Karen shook her head at him, "you don't know all the good things he's done for me - "

"That's because you don't tell us _anything_ anymore!" Her mother cried. She had been crying for quite some time.

"Whenever I brought him up you make that face, both of you, the face! You think he's so awful but he found that job for me at Hamleys after I left Baker Baker and Davi -"

"Yes, when you left," her father snapped, "and you _still_ haven't given us any reason for why you left a perfectly good job!"

"It doesn't matter anymore!"

"You never tell us anything!" Her mother sobbed. "You used to talk to us!"

Her father put his hand on his shoulder and gestured savagely at Karen. "Now look what you've done!"

"Oh she's been crying for the last ten minutes!" Karen snapped witheringly.

"Karen!"

"All you need to know about why I left is that if it wasn't for Matt -"

"I knew he had something to do with it," her father said aside to her mother. "Probably got her fired, hanging around all the time!"

" _I was attacked!_ "

That earned a heavy silence. 

Karen felt the sobs threatening to take her, welling up within her chest and seeking escape. She took several deep breaths and swallowed them. "I - I ..."

"Love?" Her mother whispered, in an entirely different tone.

"A man," she said haltingly, "tried ... one night ... and Matt stopped him and the next day he told my boss the truth. He vouched for me when the man tried to get me fired." She looked up, dashing underneath her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it. It's done, it's over. But you are _so_ wrong about him."

"Karen," her mother said, reaching for her. "Tell me ..."

"No I'm not talking about it!"

The silence returned. Each of the three looked in a different direction: Karen at the mantle clock, her father out the window, her mother at her. 

With determined, strained calm her father said, "Karen ... I'm not doubting that he is a decent person. You've ... generally made good friends. But it is different with men and women and he is ..." he shook his head and firmly said, "I can't approve this. I meant what I said. He's not to come here again and I don't want you seeing him."

Karen sniffed, staring hard at the clock. "I'll do what I like."

"Not while you live under my roof."

"Then I'll move out," Karen said recklessly, looking at him again. "Loads of girls my age live out of home now."

"Karen - _Raymond_ , tell her - this is _silly!_ "

But Karen and her father were too much alike. They gazed stubbornly at one another. Her father turned suddenly, and sat in his chair.

"You do that, love. If that's what you want. And you'll soon see how hard it is, you'll have to learn to do everything yourself - won't have the money for all your dresses and your shoes. And you won't get a penny out of us."

She almost broke. It was getting difficult to tell if she was leaving home or if he was kicking her out.

"I'll start looking tomorrow," she said. Her mother's pleas for good sense filled her ears as she climbed the stairs.

The rest of the day was miserable. Karen came out of her room only when she absolutely had to. She stripped the guest bed and tided up. She found Matt's guitar pick on the floor and took it back to her own room. It found a new home in her jewelry box.

The idea of moving out was a glamorous one - when she had no intention of doing it. Karen could not lose face now. The prospect of moving into her own flat was actually quite frightening. She made lists of what she would take as though she was going on holiday. A very long holiday. 

The telephone rang at five. Karen came halfway down the stairs in time to see her mother hanging up. Karen looked from the receiver in the cradle to her mother's guilty face. There was no doubt who had phoned and been hung up on.

"I'm going to go and see him," Karen said much more timidly than she intended, drumming her fingers on the balustrade. "I'll only be gone a few hours."

"Karen, your father ..."

"I'm moving out," Karen asserted, "what does it matter what I do now?"

It took her a long time to get to Matt's. She had never been before, but he once wrote his address down for her. She kept it in the little book where she neatly printed and religiously updated the telephone numbers and addresses of friends. She had to wait over an hour for the first bus, and then another twenty minutes for the second. By the time she was standing in front of Matt's bedsit on Uxbridge Road, Shepherd's Bush, it was dark. Karen suddenly became aware that she had missed dinner.

A little old lady in a mint green dress opened the door. 

"Um, hello. I'm Karen, a friend of Matt's ... is he here?"

The lady's face registered confusion, then delight. She stepped aside to allow Karen in. "Oh yes yes yes. Of course! Yes. Come in. Heard so much about you. I ask Matthew, where are you off to this weekend, and he's always saying he's taking Karen out and he's so excited about it. He'll be pleased. Let me go up and get him. I'm Mrs. Shaw, by the way - his landlady!"

She started up the stairs, leaving Karen in a spacious hallway. The stairs went directly up to a landing from which three - no four, if she bent her head that way - doors were visible. She looked down with a start as a man with an umbrella and a felt hat bustled through the front door. They nearly collided.

"Oh! Hello, ha! Sorry about that." He stuck out his hand to shake and Karen took it. She regretted it at once - it was very hot. "Sylvest - Syl - Mr. McCoy, yes. Live upstairs," he pointed with his brolly. 

"Hello - Karen, I'm a friend of Matt's."

"More than a friend, I think," Mr. McCoy grinned and released her hand. He patted her arm. "Good, good. Now. For a bit of supper ... cheese on toast, I think ..." 

Karen turned in a full, baffled circle as she watched him go, trying not to laugh.

"Karen."

She looked up. Matt was leaning over the balustrade. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was barefoot. Frowning. 

"Hi."

Matt glanced at Mrs. Shaw. She was beaming encouragingly at him, clearly delighted to have met Karen at last. Matt sighed and beckoned to Karen.

"Come upstairs."

Clutching her handbag before her, Karen climbed the thinly-carpeted stairs. She had to squeeze past Mrs. Shaw, who patted her back fondly as she went by. Matt gestured to his bedroom and followed her in a moment later.

His room wasn't much, especially when Karen took into consideration that this was his only space. She knew there were two other lodgers, then Mrs. Shaw downstairs. He said she cooked for him sometimes, but he really was confined to this room.  A window overlooked the street with a high, slanted architect's desk set before it. It was meticulously tidy. A brass double bed was against the wall and made with a dark red cover, creased as though he'd been lying on it. There was a wooden wardrobe with rosettes and paneling, hooks fastened to the sides for his coats. All his shoes were tossed in a haphazard pile at the end of the bed. Near the door was an armchair with a doily on the back. A biscuit tin was on the end table.

"It's cosy," she said, and meant it.

Matt closed the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Um, actually, think you're supposed to say, 'hello Karen.'"

"Hello Karen. What are you doing here?"

She tightened her grip on her handbag. "Came to see you."

"Is that a good idea? Really? Given the state your parents are in?"

Karen puzzled at him. "Who's side are you on?"

Matt huffed out another big sigh and rubbed his hands through his hair. He leaned forward and kissed her, then gestured to the armchair. She sat in it, feet together, placing her handbag on the floor. Matt squatted down in front of her and gathered up her hands in his. He shook them for emphasis as he spoke.

"Karen, I'm on our side. I meant what I said to your Dad."

"The bit about ruling the world?"

That got a little smile out of him. "Yeah, that. And the bit about how I feel about you, all right? If I didn't care about you then I wouldn't care about him. Does that make sense?"

She nodded.

"He's your _Dad_ , Kaz. Now don't get mad, but you're the one always bashing on about how you're all grown up at twenty. But you're not acting it - now, come on. Listen. You've only got one Mum and Dad. That's all you're ever gonna get. Right now you don't care what they think but what about in five years? Ten? Your mind's going to change eventually and if you burn bridges now there's no going back. I get it, okay," he added, nodding, "I get that he's got old-fashioned ideas and it's frustrating. But he's like it cos he loves you, Kaz. And he hates me cos he wants the best for you and, he doesn't think I'm that."

She tried to argue again but he shushed her, bringing her hands to his lips to kiss first one set of knuckles, then the other. His eyes remained fixed upon her. "Now we know he's wrong cos we know what's best for you, right? We know our own minds and we know how we feel about each other. But we've just got to give him time to get hip to that, okay? And he won't if you provoke him by coming around here just after a big row like that."

Karen wanted to resent him for spoiling everything by being so practical. It had taken her over two hours to get here and now she was being sent on her way. But Matt was also being so .... sensible, so respectful of ... well, everything, that she just ended up fancying him more.

Mrs. Shaw knocked and came in with a plate of cheese and cucumber sandwiches and two cups of tea. She made room for them on the end table. Karen ate one of the little triangles gratefully, her stomach rumbling. 

"So what do you say?" Matt asked when the sandwiches were eaten and the tea drunk.

Karen nodded reluctantly. "You're right. But things are going to be different anyway. I said to him I was moving out."

He stared at her in a way that made all her worries about living away from home return. "Right. Okay. Any ... any chance you could take that back?"

"No. I'm not losing face."

"It's not about losing face, Karen, it's family."

She frowned at her lap. Matt sighed - again - and made to sit next to her. "Budge up." They squeezed on to the armchair together, uncomfortably, until he had the brilliant idea of moving her on to his lap.

"If you move out, you keep talking to them, do you hear? Don't cut them off. I'm not having that."

Karen twitched her lips to one side. "Why are you so worried about it?"

"If you miss them one day, and it's too late ... you'll resent me for it. Selfish reasons, Karen.  I'm thinking of myself."

"I wouldn't, ever."

"Karen, you don't know what you'd do or think in a few years. Just trust me, okay? You don't choose your family, so you've got to make the best of it."

"I really love you."

It just sort of came out, the most natural confession in the world. He was wonderful, he was the coolest person she knew - his car, his guitar. And now all this ... Karen thought she had wanted him to tell her to sod her parents, and entertained stupid daydreams of running away together. But it was quite the opposite. He wanted her to have everything. 

Matt smiled a little, nodded. "Yeah. I love you, too. Was gonna say it earlier but thought ... you should hear it before your Dad did."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her; it was the most heavenly, the most classic kiss of her life, though nothing was technically different from any other kiss they shared. But Karen could feel it, the subtle change, and she wished more than anything she could spend the night with him beneath that dark red blanket.

Matt drove her home. He walked her to her door. Karen's father was in the hall, and Matt gave him a terse nod which went unreturned. 

"I love you," he said again, and Karen swore she heard her father's footsteps falter.


	14. Anello and Davide

**February, 1965**

His pencil was blunt.

Matt leaned back in his squeaky chair. He stretched his long legs out underneath his desk and turned the pencil in his fingers. It had been a long time since he went upstairs to retrieve new pencils - these days, he sharpened them on the machine affixed to the desk a few meters away. 

"Are you stuck?" 

He raised his eyes. The new guy was peering over at him. Only, he wasn't so new anymore. Gareth had been at Sam's desk for six, seven months. He was a quiet Welshman around Matt's age with a very dry, subtle sense of humour that went over most people's heads. Matt had gotten it immediately, and the two were good workmates.

"No. Just ... thinking." Matt intended to leave it at that, but found himself going on just as Gareth turned back to his work. "My girlfriend used to work upstairs. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"I ... heard," Gareth said delicately. 

Matt pressed his forefingers against either end of the pencil and held it up, elbows on the armrests. "What did you hear? It's okay, you can be honest."

Gareth crossed his arms on the desk and leaned forward. It was very late on a Friday afternoon and much of the floor had already emptied. "I heard the man who worked here before me tied to pull her. I heard she knocked him back and then I heard ten different reasons from about ten different people why them upstairs tried to sack her."

"Sam said she was stealing."

"Then I heard she made a big announcement in front of everyone that the company was rubbish and you were a great shag."

Matt barked out a quick laugh. "Well ..."

"So that's true then?" Gareth smiled across at him.  "Is it also true the company paid her off?"

"No," Matt replied, still laughing. "No. Your story's basically right. She was accused of some things that weren't true, and instead of accepting an apology she told them to stuff it."

"What does she do now?"

"Works at Hamleys." Matt got up, flipped the pencil in the air, and crossed to the sharpener. He inserted it and turned the crank. "I met her like this, actually. It's funny. It always makes me think of her." He removed the pencil, regarded it fondly, and blew off the shavings.

Gareth took his arms off his slanted desk and examined the plans clipped to it. "You're very introspective."

"Huh?"

"Well we've worked together six and a half months. You've never talked about her before. Passing mentions, but not like this. Trouble in paradise?"

"No. She's meeting my parents tonight. Big sit down dinner ... just makes me think, is all."

"What about?"

Matt returned to his desk and looked over the plans. He could get a little more work in, perhaps twenty minutes, before he'd have to pack up and go to Karen's. She still had Fridays off, so he hoped she'd actually be ready on time. 

"Nothing. You should come out with us sometime, Gareth. You, your bird. Karen and me. My mate Arthur, you'd like him, you're similar really." He glanced up. "Eerily similar. Got a long-lost brother?"

"Looks like me?"

"No, your sense of humour."

"No long-lost relatives that I know of."

"Next weekend then, what do you reckon?"

"Hey, I'm up for it."

Matt ended up working for only ten minutes more. His mind was not on the job. Karen had already met his sister Laura months ago, which would make the evening ahead a little easier on her. She said she wasn't nervous, but Matt didn't believe that. He had been deadly nervous about meeting her parents: it was a natural thing.

Gareth brushed shreds of rubber off his plans and glanced up. "You're off? Good luck."

"Thanks. It'll be fine. She'll be fine. My mother already loves her."

"Longest-serving girlfriend?"

"Something like that. See you Monday."

Matt pulled on his coat and turned up the collar. He headed out, adjusting the position of his messenger bag over his shoulder as he went. His car was parked two streets over, waiting patiently and needing a wash. It was a bitterly cold February and constantly threatening to snow, though other than a few spots overnight it was still yet to do so. He frowned at the mud splashed up around the wheels. That was a job for the weekend.

Karen lived in a tiny flat in Clareville Grove, South Kensington. The building was painted a light, minty green and had houseroom for four tenants above ground. Karen did not reside in the main house, but lived in the basement flat with another girl, Freema. It was accessed by a set of ankle-twisting external steps which ran straight down into a little pit of a courtyard, fenced in by once-fancy rusty iron gates. The brickwork was alive with mosses and it didn't drain properly after a good rain, which meant the girls had to lay sandbags they could scarcely lift against the door. 

It was better indoors, though it never got much light. It had been transformed into a flat only a few years prior, which meant most of the amenities were in good order. There was a tiny kitchen in which a little breakfast table was arranged, and a common area that relied on second or third hand pieces of furniture. At least it _had_ furniture. It had taken Freema and Karen two months to get their act together and find some.

Despite the gloom, both bedrooms faced out on to the slice of garden beyond and received a little weak sunlight. The bedrooms were incredibly narrow, but had fresh paint on the walls and new carpet on the floor. Karen's was just wide enough to squeeze in the length of a double bed, the downside being that it was accessible by only one side. Sometimes got the window blind stuck between mattress and wall. With such poor space for their things many of their clothes lived in the common room, a joint dressing space, which neither girl seemed to mind since they were about the same size and shared a similar taste in clothes.

Karen had been remarkably lucky to find it. She had gotten in touch with Freema through Arthur's girlfriend, who knew a woman around Karen's age also looking for a flat. By the time they met at the Twelve O'Clock to see if they took to one another, Freema had already made an appointment to view the Clareville Road flat. They went together the following day and moved in by the end of the week. They were fortunate to find a decent place in a trendy neighbourhood where they did not have to share a bedroom. They took what they could get.

Matt parked across the road. He was as familiar with the flat as the girls were by now, and navigated the tricky stone steps with practiced ease. He rapped on the glass windows on his way to the door, on which he also knocked just to be annoying.

Karen jerked it open. "I'm not ready."

She _was_ dressed, however. Barefoot, her hair in fat curlers ... but dressed. It was more than he could hope for.

"You used to be good at being on time," he commented mildly, letting himself in. He closed the door to keep in the heat. The flat was always very warm, so he shucked off his coat. "Then you moved out and weren't scared of your parents running into me."

"Don't forget I ran out of spending money to buy something new for every occasion," she reminded him, wandering into the bathroom.

Matt watched her walk away, then followed a minute or two later. "That one's not yours."

"Which one?"

"The frock."

"It's Freema's."

"I like it," he commented, coming up behind her. He reached his arms through Karen's and started tightening the plastic belt looped round her middle. "Should be, though..."

She slapped his wrist. "Stop that, it's meant to be loose."

"It'd look better pulled in."

"It's the fashion. Now bugger off, you're in my way."

Matt grinned at her reflection as he kissed her cheek. Karen was looking down at the hairbrush in her hand, but he saw her smiling. He retreated to sit on the side of the bath.

"What did you do today?"

"Went to the shops. Made a casserole. How was your day?"

"Good. Asked Gareth to come out with us sometime. He's nice, said Arthur should come with us too."

Karen was unwinding the rollers from her hair. It bounced, glossy ginger. "Okay."

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"Liar."

"I'm not!"

"Uh-huh. I said we'd pick up Laura on the way."

"I know. She telephoned earlier. She picked up a job with Biba and wanted to borrow my new black heels."

"You don't have new black heels."

"Freema does."

"Are you sure Freema's not going to be needing Freema's new black heels?"

Karen rolled her eyes at his reflection. "She's working all weekend. She'll only need her work shoes, and Laura will bring back the others on Sunday. Nosy."

He had learned to be patient when Karen was getting ready to go out. If he needled her to hurry, she'd get cross, flustered, and self-conscious - which almost always resulted in two outfit changes. He'd also gotten sneaky, giving her earlier times than the ones actually arranged. Karen thought they were perpetually running late. In actuality, they were always on time.

So Matt wandered off. He hunted around in her fridge for something to eat while she finished getting ready. He located a small corner of leftover Shepherd's Pie and ate it cold, flipping through a copy of NME on the kitchen table.

"Ugh, I could've heated it up for you," she emerged, clipping big hoops to her earlobes. "Freema will kill you, her Mum made that for her especially."

He grinned at her. "And you look smashing. Right to go?"

She nodded, looping her handbag over her forearm. For all her bluff, it was now inescapably obvious that she was nervous. Matt put the plate and fork in the sink and went to Karen, taking both her hands. He gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster.

"Hey. All right?"

"My parents are awful to you and you're so thick-skinned about it. I don't think I could be the same if yours don't like me."

_Thick-skinned._ How he wished that were true. Her father's attitude, their joint belief that Karen deserved better still rankled. When he thought of how they had judged him (and by association, his Mum and Dad) he just wanted to go straight over there and thump Mr. Gillan. However, Matt had overcome his paranoia that Karen fancied him only to spite her parents: that time had long passed, proven by her willingness to remain apart from them. 

It had been difficult for her in the beginning. Once the honeymoon period of total freedom was over she had been left with fear, overwhelmed by the full weight of adult responsibility. She learned budgeting the hard way and burned through her humble savings within the first month. Matt had spent a good deal of money on her - more than he could afford, really - to take her out for meals when he suspected she had run out of money. The Stockpot was a favourite; cheap, filling, wholesome food. Once that first, difficult month ended Karen began to learn. Now she thrived on her independence. 

"You've had Laura and me vouching for you," Matt reminded Karen, squeezing her hands. "They like you already, Kaz. Now they just have to meet you properly. Yeah?" He kissed her lightly. "Yeah. Come on."

Karen fiddled with the radio all the way to Laura's until Matt told her if she didn't stop, she could walk. She looked at him very seriously. "Matt, these shoes are Anello and Davide. _Anello and Davide._ You can't even joke about that."

Laura was almost ready, hurrying down the front steps of her flat. She held her bright red beret to the side of her head with one hand. Bobby pins were sticking out of her teeth. She slammed the car door and then carefully secured her beret to her hair. 

His sister made a tricky living out of modeling. Matt's illusion that modeling was an easy business was shattered once his sister had gotten into it years earlier. Models were responsible for doing their own hair and make-up, meaning that Laura's entire look was self-taught. They were also often responsible for bringing their own props to shoots and supplying their own footwear. In the early days of her humble career Laura had trudged around London like a packhorse, weighed down with bags of gear as she went from once place to another, trying to book work. With persistence, luck and good genes Laura was now moderately successful and had a bursting portfolio. She was still hoping for the break that would transform her into the next Jean Shrimpton.

Karen pulled Freema's black shoes out of her handbag and passed them over the seats. "As requested!"

"Be careful with those, they're not Karen's!" Matt warned, eyes on the road. "She shouldn't even be lending them!"

"I asked Freema! Mind your own business!"

"I've still got those sparkly Mary Quant tights Freema lent me," Laura was saying, "don't let me forget, I'll bring them back on Sunday."

Dinner was arranged at a restaurant called Ley-On's Chop Suey in Soho. Matt had taken Karen there a couple of times and thought a familiar setting would relax her. His Mum and Dad were already sitting at the round table when they arrived and rose, smiling.  Laura went on ahead to greet them.

Matt took Karen's hand and pecked her cheek while his parents were distracted. "Love you."

Laura moved aside and Matt tugged Karen forward. "Hey Mum, Dad. Safe trip down? How is it staying with Aunty Rosie?" 

"Oh, get out of the way!" His mother laughed, patting his cheek but effectively shunting him aside to get to Karen. "Hello! So nice to meet you, at last, I'm Lynne, that one over there's David ... goodness, your hair's awfully red, just like Ann Margaret's!"

Matt's Dad leaned over the table and extended his hand. "Hello, love, nice to meet you at last."

"Fancy taking six months ... Matt should've brought you up to stay with us ages ago ... he's such a muppet about these things ...!"

And that was pretty much how the first thirty minutes of conversation went. It was extremely one-sided - his mother's side, mainly. She excitedly leapt from subject to subject, asking questions of Laura and Matt and then going on to ask more of Karen without waiting for answers from her children. Karen didn't need him to hold her hand. She laughed and got along famously with his Mum and Dad. He sat back with his sister and ate prawn toast.

"Remember when Mum loved us?" Laura sighed mournfully. "Remember when she asked questions and wanted to hear the answers?"

"Those were the good old days," Matt agreed with equal drama. "She doesn't even remember our names anymore. No more Christmas presents, Laura. We're out of the Will."

"I wish we liked each other. Then we wouldn't be alone in the world."

"Yeah, I'd rather be alone than putting up with you. You're just a pale memory of what I used to have. The love and affection of my family."

"You never really had the love and affection of my family," Laura solemnly corrected, "you're adopted and we never loved you anyway."

"No, they never loved _you_. You're adopted."

"No, you are."

"You are!"

"Oy."

"Oy!"

They started scuffling. 

"Hey, you two, settle down, or you can wait in the car!" David said, gesturing at them with his bottle of ale. "You're both adopted and we never loved either of you; so just shut it. Oh look, mains."

The table was soon groaning beneath the weight of fried rice, chow mein, sweet and sour pork and a handful of other mouthwatering dishes. As they ate the focus gradually came away from Karen and it was Matt and Laura's turn to start answering questions. They began talking of family things that Karen knew nothing about, but each Smith took their turn filling Karen in so she was as much a part of the conversation as they were. His parents were delighted with her, just as Matt had known they'd be. 

By the time the fried ice cream was finished the conversation had split in two. His father and Laura were on one side of the table chatting, and Matt was involved in their conversation until he overhead where his mother's chat with Karen was going. He immediately gave them his full attention.

"You've got to make your own way," his mother way saying, "and I bet they're so proud of you for that. Your father, he's self-made, isn't he."

"Yeah."

Matt reached for Karen's knee under the table and squeezed it gently.

"Then he'll come round to understanding. They both will, dear. You'll see." His mother glanced at Matt. "Matt tells me you still pop round? Every few weeks?"

She nodded. "Just for tea. A catch-up. I'll not stay longer until they let Matt come round again."

"That's very loyal of you, dear. And how are they when you go round?"

"Dad's a bit formal. Mum's okay though. She's always made something for me to take home. A pie or something, you know."

Matt's mother patted her hand. "That's us mums for you. Well, I think you're very brave. Very strong. Things will work out. You'll see."

Mr. and Mrs. Smith were staying in London another four days. They made Matt promise to organise something else with Karen before they left. His mother showered Karen with kisses. She had taken a supportive attitude to Karen's face, but Matt knew she was livid about the situation with her parents. It had all come out to them a few months ago. She couldn't understand how they could be so disapproving of her son and took it as a personal insult.

Sometimes, he really loved his Mum.

The kisses all came down to his mother thinking that Karen's wasn't doing enough of this herself; Matt took pity on his girlfriend and disentangled her.

"We're off. Laura, do you want a lift back?"

"Yeah, please!"

Karen played with the dial in the car radio again until she found a station playing _I Can't Explain._  

"God, I love his voice, it's so sexy."

"Who is it?"

Karen turned around, a move made slightly awkward since Matt chose that moment to change gears and her hand was beneath his. He smirked at the road and pretended it was an accident.

"It's the Who," Karen told Laura.

"Who?"

" _The_ Who."

"Not heard of them."

"They're new. Listen to this guy's voice, it's so sexy."

"What's his name?"

"Um ..." 

Karen looked at Matt - he tended to be as knowledgable as she was and could usually fill in the gaps when she forgot something. Mind, she poured over the magazines with far greater devotion than he did. She still liked to circle gigs she wanted to see in NME. Karen would then stuff it in his messenger bag amongst his work to be found later. There was not a single one she had wanted to see that had been missed; though he had informed her he would never, ever take her to see the Beatles again. The screaming fans had been dreadful: it was like standing right next to a jet airplane. They hadn't been able to hear the music at all.

"Daltrey," Matt said.

"Roger Daltrey," Karen added, nodding at Laura.

Once Laura had been dropped home the conversation inevitably turned to dinner.

"Your parents are really nice," Karen commented, turning down Cilla Black. "Really warm and friendly."

"Yeah, shame you'd not met them before, really," Matt said, "they're just too busy to get down here and I'm lazy about going up there..."

"I think our Mums would get along," Karen murmured.

Matt hadn't considered that if things kept going well, _one_ day his parents and Karen's would have to meet. It was quite terrifying, actually. Karen was right. Their Mums would probably find some common ground, since he guessed Karen's would be more supportive if not for her old man. But he couldn't imagine their Dads having anything to say to one another - especially given the Gillans' aversion to Matt. 

"Thought we could maybe have tea with them Sunday or something. At my Aunty Rosie's."

"Okay. Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"Your Mum said you've never been with a girl as long as you've been with me."

He turned into Queen's Gate. "That'd be right, yeah. My last ... she and I broke up after five months or something."

"Your Mum said my parents would come round."

"She's pretty smart, my old girl."

"Do you think they'll come round?"

Matt glanced at her. Karen's face was very white in the darkness. He waited until he had pulled up in front of her flat and cut the engine before answering. Matt stretched his arm along the back of the vinyl seats.

"No. I don't think they will."

That was a terrible admission to make. He knew that Karen, despite her rebellion and devil-may-care attitude, was still desperately holding out for their approval. She didn't speak of it often, but he knew she missed them and the sacrifice hurt. Matt knew that telling her it might never get better could have terrible consequences for the two of them - but it was better than her living in miserable, endless hope.

"I don't think they will, either."

"...do you regret choosing me over them?"

"I didn't choose you," Karen replied, picking at her tights, "I chose _myself._ Things had been bad for awhile before you even came along. I wanted to work, I wanted different things than they did. I guess you were just a catalyst to it really changing." She looked up. "I'll not ever hold it against you. I love you - but I did all this for me."

There she was. His brave, fierce, silly little girl with her ideas of independence. Only, Karen wasn't quite as silly as she might've seemed. His heart swelled with pride. She'd come a long way in six months, and made her choices for the right reasons. And for his part, Matt felt a deep sense of relief. If she had done it all for him ... god, the responsibility of that. He loved her, but that would've been too much. 

Freema was on the patchy sofa painting her toenails when they came in.

"Hey! How'd it go?" She asked, smiling brightly. "Dress looks good on you. Shorter on your leg than me."

"They loved her."

"You mustn't have taken Karen in then. Must've left her in the car and borrowed a sweet and charming girl to show off."

"Yeah, I wound down the window a couple of inches for Kaz and left the radio on. She was fine."

Karen pointed at Matt. "He ate the rest of your Mum's Shepherd's Pie."

"Right, you," Freema sprang up and hobbled awkwardly toward them. She had cotton wool squashed between her tacky toenails. Matt grabbed Karen's hand and used her as a human shield on his way to the bedroom, ducking from the cushions and shoes Freema threw.

They had a routine in the bedroom. Music went on to cover up noise for Freema's sake. They were in such a hurry that Matt just put the needle on what was already on the record player. He groaned into her mouth in total frustration when Herman's Hermits started playing _I'm Into Something Good_. How the fuck she could listen to this complete crap and still like the Moody Blues and Georgie Fame, he would never understand.

Karen was laughing and refused to let him go back and change it.

"I can't, I can't to this," Matt protested as Karen peeled off his broad-collared shirt. 

"You _can_ ," she insisted, stumbling backwards and kissing his collarbone, "you _will._ "

"Nope. Can't. Won't."

Karen took hold of the bottom of his vest, leaving him no choice but to raise his arms over his head so she could take it off. He settled his hands on her hips, hair falling over his eyes as his body sidled against hers. He was trying to figure out how the bloody dress came off: back zipper, side zipper, no zip at all, they were all so frustratingly _different!_ Then Karen was kissing him, her hands gliding over his bare chest, his back, his arms, over the seat of his trousers until he couldn't hear Herman's Hermits anymore.

Her hand ran over the bulge in the front of his trousers. "Don't seem so bothered now."

"Sneaky bitch," he muttered, locating the zip and yanking it down. Karen gave a delighted little yelp, and neither of them heard much more of the album after that.


	15. Transistor

**May, 1965**

"Hey. You all right?"

Karen looked up and frowned, rubbing her stomach. She had been feeling a bit off-colour all morning - when she'd woken up she'd considered phoning in sick. But it was Wednesday, and if she didn't come in there'd be nobody to do the letters in the afternoon. She patted her neat bouffant up-do and lifted another two teddies from the box.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just been feeling a bit out of sorts."

"You're pale," Arthur pressed. His arms were loaded with board games. She could see Tip It! on top, which seemed quite fitting. "Sit for down, if you need to."

She shook her head and set the bears on the shelf. She arranged them just so, angled slightly, because she liked them to be able to see out the window. "We went out last night. I overdid it."

"What'd you do?"

"Saw the Who at the Marquee."

"Again?"

Matt had taken Karen to see them on the thirteenth, and when they realised the band would be back a week later they had immediately purchased tickets to see them again.

"They're brilliant, Arthur."

"Not doubting it. But you know, idea: maybe don't party _quite_ so hard on a school night?"

"Point taken," Karen sighed. She lifted out another teddy. He had golden, curly fur. Karen stroked it affectionately. "I like this one. Arthur?"

"Yeah, proper sweet," he answered vaguely, sliding the boxes into their rightful places on shelves. "D'you wanna help me assemble the new playhouse?" 

Karen glanced toward the tills. "Can Sophie cover everything for a bit on her own?" She was stacking shelves, but meant to keep an eye on the front counter in case Sophie got overwhelmed.

Arthur had worked at Hamleys longer than any of them. He took on a senior role when Mr. Troughton, or Mr. Pertwee, the assistant manager, were not present. He pushed in the last box and steered around a young boy examining a box of Checkers.

"Sophie, you right on your own if I take Karen upstairs to help with the playhouse?"

Sophie popped her chewing gum and looked over. She was as beatnik as Mr. Capaldi, with her black drainpipe trousers and beret. "Oh. Yeah, can do."

"Ding the bell if you get busy," Arthur told her. He gestured to Karen and they started upstairs.

The playhouse took all morning to build. It had plastic sides resembling white brick with painted flowers blooming along the bottom. A red, peaked roof was designed to be fitted, along with bright blue shutters for the windows, a dummy chimney and two plastic chairs painted to resemble dimpled armchairs. Arthur unfolded massive instructions printed on thin paper, turning it around as he tried to make sense of them.

"It's supposed to be click and bolt! Click ... and bolt! Why isn't it clicking and bolting?"

Karen stuck her hand into the bag of cherry bon bons that lay between them and popped two into her mouth. She leaned over the plans. "You've got to click all the latches into place. Bon bon?"

"No. What? I have?"

"No, there's latches top, bottom and middle."

"There really isn't."

Karen rolled her eyes and moved to the playhouse on her knees.

"Karen, mind - you'll tear the bloody plans!"

She peered over the side of the half-erected plastic wall. "There's only two latches, Arthur."

"That's what I said! How's anyone supposed to put this bloody thing together, I don't know ..."

The bon bons settled her stomach. She only wished they were strawberry: cherry was such an overpowering flavour in sweets, over-sugared for her taste. She was just grateful that she had found them in the bottom of her handbag. They gave her stomach something else to think about. 

Once Arthur realised the plans were incomplete he started using commonsense. The playhouse was then up in no time. They had gathered an audience of small children and their parents, the kids tugging on hands and pointing excitedly. Karen invited them to try out the playhouse and before they had even cleaned up packing and twine, the little house was full of children. Karen and Arthur stood off to one side stuffing their fists to their mouths every time they wanted to laugh aloud. 

"How many are in there now?"

"Seven."

"I counted nine."

"There's not room for nine! Plans said 'for six to eight children.'"

"Well there's nine in there, Arthur. Ooh look!"

"Oh god. That wall. It's moving."

Karen squealed as one whole side of Arthur's playhouse fell forward with a thunk. Three children lay against it, rolling around and laughing. The unmistakable sound of plastic cracking was heard as one of them went over the shutters.

"Ohhhh great. That's just great!" Arthur stepped forward, waving his hands. "All right, off kids! Fun's over!"

 

 

On a beautiful spring day, a checkered blanket lay underneath a spreading Sessile Oak. The blanket was covered with picnic food. Cheese and cucumber, egg and cress and ham paste sandwiches; pork pies and boiled eggs; flasks of tea and lemonade; leftover cakes from the Twelve O'Clock covered in clean tea-towels. The containers bumped and overlapped and the people kneeling around the edges of the blanket were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. 

Karen was sitting between Matt's legs to save space. She had a ladybird crawling along her finger, which she held up at eye level and watched with enchanted wonder. The conversation around her seemed to fade as she watched the glossy red insect trot slowly along her finger one way, then the other. She touched another finger to the tip. The ladybird crossed to her other hand on the makeshift bridge. 

An interesting thing had happened over the past few months. A group organically formed. (A gang, as Arthur liked to call it: 'let's get the gang together Sunday, Smith!') People came and went but a core group remained, and no outing was considered authentic unless they were all present.

Naturally, Matt and Karen were part of the group. So was Arthur and his girlfriend Ines; Jenna and her boyfriend Richard; David, Freema and Gareth. Regular guests included Matt and David's old pub friend John or Gareth's on-again, off-again girlfriend Priscilla; Laura or Noel from Matt's bedsit, occasionally a boyfriend of Freema's. Both Matt and Richard had cars and between the two of them they could usually jam everyone inside to take them wherever they wanted to go.

There were discussions underway of where they could all go in the summer. David's father owned a holiday shack in Southend-on-Sea that he thought he could loan for a weekend. It was a considerably larger undertaking than packing picnic hampers to sit underneath oak trees in Hampstead Heath. In the main, they were all excited at the idea of getting away together. Two voices of reason stood out from the others: Gareth and Freema could always be relied upon to be most practical.

"We'd need more than two cars," Gareth said as Karen watched the ladybird crawl over her fingernail, "even if it were just us nine, there's all the luggage to think of. We'd need at least one more car."

"I could borrow Mum's mini," Ines offered.

Gareth shook his head. "Mini's no good. It's not big enough. Realistically, we couldn't put more than four people in one car with all the bags and things."

"So, if just us nine go, we could tie Jenna to the roof of my car, she'd be fine."

Jenna elbowed Richard in the ribs, almost knocking the breath out of him. "Funny! But it probably won't just be nine, will it? David might want to bring somebody."

"Laura might wanna come," Matt added.

Freema was counting. "That could be eleven. Is there even room for eleven of us, David?"

David pulled apart two slices of bread, sniffed the ham paste inside and started eating. "Yeah."

"How many beds are there, though? We've got to think of where we're going to put everyone. I mean do we need extra blankets and things, too?"

"It's not exactly an A-Frame shack," David said slowly. "It's a bit larger than that."

"Well, how large?" Freema asked. She reached over and turned down the transistor radio, which was blaring the latest Donovan single.

David chewed, swallowed. "Dad inherited it, see. From his Uncle. It's a proper house. Upstairs there's four bedrooms."

"Four, it's a bloody mansion!" Jenna exclaimed.

"Don't get too carried away. No one lives there nine months of the year. It's not even seen to nine months of the year. It would've been grand once but it's pretty run down now. No toilet inside," he added with a significant glance at the girls, "and no shower - big old claw-foot bathtub, though."

"Sounds romantic," Freema said with a smirk for Karen. No one else noticed her sarcastic aside.

David looked up at the oak leaves dancing in the breeze, concentrating. "There's the main bedroom, that's got an old double-bed. The yellow room's got ... look, I think bunk beds and a single, but Dad was talking about taking them out cos they wobbled. Not sure if he got around to it. Then I think there's another double at the back and the little room's got a baby's cot."

"How many beds is that?" Matt asked.

Gareth was on the ball. "If the bunk beds are still there it's five not counting the cot, which could sleep seven of us."

"There's sofas downstairs and stuff. It's doable," David said. "We might need some extra blankets though."

Karen felt Matt's breath warm against her ear. "You're very quiet."

"I've made a friend," she replied, holding up her finger with the ladybird. The insect was now sitting perfectly still.

"What d'you reckon about the holiday?"

"I like it. Wanna go for a walk later?"

"You know I do." He kissed her hair.

Arthur opened a packet of crisps. "I think I could get my hands on a car, you know. Karen, if I asked Mr. Pertwee very nicely, he'd let me use his, wouldn't he?"

Karen thought it over. Her dubious expression brought a few laughs. "I dunno, Arthur. What makes you think he'd let you drive his car?"

"He likes me."

"Grooming Arthur to be a manager," Karen said to the others. "Well it's your decision. Could always sound him out I suppose. Long way to take his car though. And what would he do in the meantime while you had it?"

"Good point, yeah, I dunno, just an idea ..."

Gareth and Freema pulled the discussion in logical directions, trying to bring the others into line with practical trains of thought: such as how everything would be paid for, who should be invited, and when the weekend could conveniently happen. They were fast losing the others, who just wanted to listen to David's descriptions of the town and the house and talk about what they would do once there. The conversation was pretty much over when Ines turned up the radio for the Yardbirds' latest single, _For Your Love_ , which had her, Karen and Jenna dancing - Freema was pulled into it by the end of the first verse.

 

 

At half past one the boys started playing cricket, arguing about rules and stumps and basically reinventing the game to suit themselves. The girls dragged the blanket (the food was packed back into hampers and left by the oak tree's spreading roots) into the sunshine and lay on their stomachs, facing in to form a circle. 

"I just think they make me face look weird," Jenna pulled off the massively round sunglasses, regarded them, then put them back on. "I'm like a giant goggle-headed insect."

"No, they're cool," Ines insisted. She looked at Karen, who wore a pair with bright white plastic rims. "I need a pair in white."

"Where'd you get your black ones?"

"King's Road."

Freema took the glasses from Jenna and tried them on - Jenna using the opportunity to replace her red, heart-shaped sunnies. "Ugh, Karen and I spend too much time there now we're in the neighbourhood. Honestly, this one, the shopping ..."

"I am the best bargain shopper you will ever find," Karen solemnly declared. "I can find whatever you want and find it on sale. It's a gift."

"Do I look like an insect?" Freema asked.

"Yes!" Jenna announced, not loud enough to cover Ines and Karen's resounding "No."

Over at the makeshift cricket pitch there was an almighty roar as the boys achieved something. The girls gave them a cursory, bored glance and turned back to their circle.

"It's not bad Karen, really, considering you used to look down on bargain hunting," Jenna smirked.

"I never looked down on it, I just never saw the point!"

Arthur ran toward them with his arms in the air. "Ines! Did you see! I got him out! Got David out!"

"Yeah, yeah I saw," Ines answered, not looking that way at all. She rolled her eyes at the girls. 

"You weren't looking. Got David out, Ines!"

"Yeah, pleased for you!"

They giggled and tried to block the men out.

"I found his dirty magazines the other day," Ines whispered.

"Oh my god, no, did you?"

"I did! Mayfair and Playboys, stuffed under his mattress. I didn't know he had such a thing for Brigitte Bardot."

Karen rolled her eyes. "They've all got a thing for Brigitte Bardot. What were you doing poking underneath his mattress anyway?"

Ines put her hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. "I was changing his sheets! I didn't even think that they might've been there. I stuffed them back right away."

"I would've had a look, me," Jenna said. "Once, I went looking for Richard's, and I couldn't find any! Do you think that means he doesn't read them?"

"Maybe he's really good at hiding them when you're about," said Freema.

"Maybe he doesn't read pornographic magazines," Ines suggested.

Karen laughed. "You went looking, deliberately?"

"I wanted to know what was in them! How those girls look and stuff. I can't believe you just put them back, Ines, weren't you curious?"

Ines glanced at the boys. "Okay, I went back for a look later, while he was in the shower."

They dissolved into giggles. "What did you think?"

"I don't know! The girls were quite sexy, I guess, but it wasn't what I expected?"

"I _know_. Once," Karen peered over her shoulder just to make sure Matt was still playing wicket keeper, "Once, I found Matt's, and I was so curious I pinched one and took it home and had this whole thing of, ohmigod, he's going to know I took it, he's going to know, how do I get it back!"

"Did you get it back?" Jenna asked over the sound of Gareth and Richard arguing the rules.

"Yeah I managed, don't think he knew it was gone. Or he was too embarrassed to admit he had them and missed it, I don't know. But anyway, I was reading it at home and I was like ... how do they ... you know, get off on it? They're just pictures and like ... not that sexy? Sexy but just ... I don't get it?"

"Yes!" Ines put her hand over Karen's and shook it gratefully. "Me neither! I can picture better things in my head!"

"Yeah well, they're blokes aren't they, thick like that," Freema answered. "Bit soft on the imaginative side."

Karen raised her eyebrows. " _Some_ are."

"Oh, tell, tell!"

There was another fantastic cry from the boys. Matt was holding the cricket ball aloft and jumping up and down with it. "Out! You're bloody out this time Madden you bloody cheat!"

"Ball didn't hit the stumps!"

"It knocked the fucking bail off!"

"You did that leaping about!"

"You fucking - !" Matt looked at the others for validation. "You saw it!"

"Looked out to me," agreed Arthur.

David shrugged at Gareth. "I didn't see. Give him another go, what does it matter?"

Matt gaped at the unfairness of this. "Because he's fucking out! Kaz, you were watching, you saw!"

"Oh god," Karen looked down at the blanket. Amidst the giggles and attempts at straight faces from the other girls she reached for the knob of the transistor radio. Karen turned the music up as far as it would go.

"Traitor!"

 

 

"Well, Brigitte Bardot, any day." Arthur took a swig of ginger beer.

Gareth nodded solemnly. "Bardot, man, she's tidy."

"Foreign birds," Matt agreed. He was leaning against an oak across the other side of the field from where the girls sprawled out on their blanket. "They've just got something else, haven't they?"

"Foreign, like Scotland?" Richard sniggered.

"No, he means proper foreign, like French, like Bardot. But don't tell her indoors that," Gareth added, nodding across the field.

"He knew what I meant, he was being a bloody smartass," Matt smirked.

"Don't half mind Cathy McGowan," Richard said. He was systematically crushing acorns. "That big fringe, girl-next-door thing."

"Catherine Deneuve," Arthur said wistfully. "Best spread in Playboy I've ever seen. Bloody perfect."

Richard nodded. "That was pretty fucking smashing, yeah."

"She's not got a patch on Shrimpton," Matt shook his head. "She's something else."

"It's the redheads with you," David said.

Matt grinned at him. "They just do something to me, I dunno."

"Gorgeous legs," said Gareth, taking the ginger beer from Arthur and finishing it off. "Her sister's a bit of all right too."

"She's got a sister?" David asked, immediately distracted.

"Going out with Mick Jagger," Arthur answered. "Sorry, mate."

"What a tosser."

Richard squinted over at the girls. "Think there's any grub left in those hampers?"

"Have to be," said Matt, "they bloody well made enough to feed us into tomorrow. Don't half get carried away, do they?"

Richard and Arthur started across the field. They had almost made it when the girls, out of boredom or just plain mischief, began throwing acorns at them, catcalling and laughing.

"Richard said he's going to ask Jenna to marry him come Christmas."

Both David and Matt turned, slack-jawed, to Gareth. "No."

"No, really. He's planning a whole thing. Going to sneak up to Blackpool when she's at her parents. He's already asked her dad and everything. Going to get on his knees outside her window and ask her."

"...what if it's snowing?"

"Then he'll be on his knees in the snow, I expect."

David made a face at Matt. "And he's cleared it with her old man _already_?"

"Said he had."

"Cor, he's keen. More than six months away!"

Gareth shrugged. "Her whole family'll be in on it. And he's talking his into going there for Christmas too, and they can all be together."

Matt snorted. "What if she says no?"

"Then he'll look a fool. But do you really think she will?"

Matt squinted across at Jenna, who was trying to fight Richard off with acorns. He scooped her up as though she weighed nothing. When she was on her feet she took off and Richard went immediately after her. They disappeared into the wood.

"Er, probably not, no."

"Aaand .... there go Ines and Arthur. It's like _clockwork_ , you lot," said David, sounding in parts amused and disgusted. "Go on, off you go Smith, go get her. Canoodle in the hollow of some enchanted tree."

Matt pushed off the tree and tried not to smirk. He knew it was obvious, but was at least glad it wasn't just Karen and himself disappearing all the time. He'd been waiting for the opportunity all afternoon - watching her out the corners of his eyes, memorising the texture of her long and shapely legs. They were out of tights for the first time this season and he had relished the opportunity to observe them. 

"You'll be next," Gareth told him, ominous and smiling.

"Huh?"

"You and the Highland's answer to the Shrimp!" 

"No," Matt laughed, holding up his hands and backing away. "No. Not saying never ... but no. Only been seeing her what, ten months? Not even a year! Want to be a bit more set up before I ... haha. No."

"I think he doth protest too much," said David to Gareth, smirking. "Yep. He'll be next."

"I really won't."

"Might even jump the gun and beat Richard to it."

"Not listening any more!" Matt turned and started across the field. "You two coming or what? You know Freema's boyfriend's a real deadbeat. Gets in fights with Rockers. You should keep her company, David!"

Matt reached the picnic blanket a little ahead of David and Gareth. Freema rolled her eyes when he arrived. "Another one bites the dust."

He held his hand out to Karen, pulling her to her feet. She tugged her cardigan into place. 

"Go for a walk, Kaz?"

Freema grinned up at him. "Richard wasn't out, you _did_ knock the bail."

Matt wagged his finger at her. "You weren't even watching."

"I was. Eyes out the back of my head, me."

"Okay, piss off Smith, cavalry's arrived!" Gareth announced, plopping down beside Freema. "Are there any crisps left, love?"

"In the basket."

"Be a dear..."

"Get them yourself!" Freema laughed, shoving him. "Do I look like your bloody girlfriend?"

Matt pulled on Karen's hand. They wandered off, deliberately taking a direction neither of the other two couples had.

"Can you keep a secret?" Matt asked.

"Sometimes. Depends."

"Not telling you unless you swear you can keep a secret."

"What's it about?"

"If I tell you that you'll know the secret! Swear first."

"Okay okay, I swear."

Matt glanced over his shoulder as they entered the wood. "Gareth said Richard said he's going to propose to Jenna come Christmas."

She grinned, ducking around a tree branch. "I knew it."

"How?"

"Well, they've been together four years. I thought it was coming."

"You can't tell Jenna."

"I won't! How's he gonna do it?"

Matt swung her hand and relayed the story. "I hope it snows and his knees freeze."

"Bully."

If Matt had been worried Karen was waiting for the same question from him he'd not have brought it up with her. Yet this was something they'd discussed recently, and he was confident her feelings on the matter hadn't changed.

"Dave and Gareth reckon we'll be next."

She made a gagging noise. "Do we have to?"

"Aw c'mon, Kaz. Kazza," he slung his arm over her shoulders and dragged her close. It made walking difficult, but it was worth it. "Let's do it. Let's get hitched. Big wedding. Invite all your dad's mates. He'll love it."

"Yeah, he'll love it like kidney stones. But you're right. Yeah. Married. Fifteen kids and all."

"We could stop at eleven. That's enough for a footy team."

The grounds of Hampstead Heath were impossibly large, easy to loose oneself in. And perfect for a couple to slip away and disappear, as David had said, into an enchanted hollow for a little while. They found a small, green clearing amongst the trees. The grass was growing long and thick, waving up at the birch trees. It was here Matt stopped and placed his hand underneath Karen's chin, pulling her to him for a long kiss.

"Been wanting to do that all day," he confessed.

"Why didn't you?"

"I'm doing it now." 

Matt kissed her again and gradually coaxed her down to the grass. He wrapped her up in his arms, stroking his hand gently along her side. She was gorgeous amongst the green; her red hair a splash of vibrant colour. He thought he could simply lie here and kiss her forever.

They didn't need to do what Richard and Jenna were. There was no need, as far as Matt was concerned. Everything was perfect the way it was. They saw one another multiple times a week and were happy. Nothing had to change, not until other things had been taken care of - his plan, career and cars and - oh hell, right. Karen's breathing had become rougher and her hands pushed up beneath his jumper. _She_ wasn't thinking about the future, she was living in the moment. And from the way she was kissing she was trying very hard to pull Matt into it, too.

Matt groaned and pushed his hand up her skirt. His fingers trailed along her inner thigh. He felt himself growing harder and thought they'd never had a better idea than taking one another here, beneath the swaying birch trees, under the dappled light.

"I want to," Karen announced when he pulled out his wallet, tugging a condom packet from inside. 

She sat up and forced him underneath her. Grass was in her hair, but his eyes were on her face as she unfastened his trousers. She had that gorgeous flush, her lips plump from his kisses. Matt let her do it, raising himself only to help her get his underwear and trousers down. his hands rested on her hips. That early, blushing uncertainty was a thing of the past now. She had a far better idea of what she wanted and how to go about getting it. He liked that.

Karen leaned down before she had the packet open. He felt his cock twitch reflexively having her so close, urgent with anticipation. She gave his shaft a long, generous lick which had him groaning. The sound resonated deeply through his body and he noticed the flicker of satisfaction pass her face. Her tongue swished around the head of his cock, lapping the bead of impatient pre-cum. Matt thumped his head against the grass and twisted his fingers in it. She would be the fucking death of him. Her soft lips parted. Karen suckled him and for a few moments he could do nothing except whimper her name over and again.

He would not have objected to her continuing but Karen had other plans. She pulled back and wiggled out of her knickers, tossing them aside. He heard the plastic tear and glanced down to watch her rolling the latex over his cock. A few seconds later and she was straddling him. Karen wasted no time as she lowered herself, slowly, her moan mingling with his. She opened her eyes when he was in her to the hilt, her hips bumping against Matt's. She laughed.

Matt loved that about her. She never took the sex too seriously; she laughed, she blundered, she treated it as fun and games rather than a dutiful sacred ritual. That didn't mean it held no importance to them; it _did_ , but they knew they could have it both ways.

Karen leaned forward as she rolled her hips against him, rocking, experimenting and seeing what she could give them. She ground her hips in a circle that had him gasping. She was so wet and eager that a couple of times he slipped out of her.  

"Get it together, Gillan!"

"You shut your face," she grinned down at him.

He couldn't passively lie back forever. Matt clamped his hands to her hips and rolled them over so he was on top. He gave several quick, shallow thrusts and savoured the cries she welcomed each stroke with. Matt pulled her leg firmly against his hip and held it there. He changed to a slower, deeper rhythm.

"You look fucking beautiful today, told you that yet?"

"No."

"You look fucking beautiful today."

"Why didn't we do this hours ago?"

"I dunno. I dunno," he mumbled, lips pressing to hers. The kisses rapidly grew more passionate, desperate, messy to the point that they could scarcely be called kisses any longer. His thrusts came faster until he lost all control, panting and pounding her into the grass. 

"Come, come," Karen urged. She knew he was holding out, waiting for her, and she wasn't there. He took her permission gladly and came soon after, pushing deep, whispering her name.

He leaned, trembling, over her body. His breathing rasped, his heart pounded, and satisfaction coursed through his veins. But he wasn't done. Matt rolled off Karen and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. He bent his head and kissed slow thanks. Pulled off the condom.

She knew what came next. Matt's hand went back up her skirt. She flinched from his touch, as she always did after he had been inside her, hyper-sensitive. Then her body relaxed and allowed him to touch her. His fingers skimmed over her plump, sodden folds. 

"I wish I could come in you," he mumbled.

They'd talked about _that_ , too. Matt had gently (okay, not so gently, perhaps) suggested they didn't need condoms any more since she'd been on the Pill so long. Karen made it clear under no uncertain terms that she was not willing to risk that.

She didn't comment other than to sigh and squeeze her thighs around his hand. She rocked her hips up against his hand, whimpering and arching her back. He knew what to do and within minutes she was jerking compulsively, climaxing.

They lay side by side in the grass until it grew colder. He brought their entwined fingers to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. 

"Do you think the weekend at Southend-on-Sea will actually happen?"

She laughed. "Who knows?"

"Come on, let's get back before they send out a search party. Which'd be embarrassing for you ... what happened to your knickers, anyway?"

Karen sat up, shaking grass out of her hair. "Oh ... bollocks."


	16. Late

Matt's key fitted into the lock at a quarter to one. He was bone-weary. An ache had settled into his upper shoulder, deep in the muscle, complaining at the slightest motion of his hand. Wincing, he adjusted the strap of his messenger bag as he gently closed the front door. There was no sign of anyone else in the Uxbridge Road house; only the orange upstairs light was on, flooding through the balustrade like jailhouse rock. 

He started up the thinly-carpeted stairs. His stomach was empty but he couldn't tell if eating would make him feel better or worse. The last meal he'd had was around five, just a cheese sandwich with dry, curling crusts, the last meal on offer from the shop down the road. The woman had given it to him with a frown and didn't discount for its lack of freshness. He'd been too distracted to care.

At three that day, the second Mr. Baker had come downstairs and announced the plans they had all worked so hard on - and finished before tomorrow's deadline - had to be reworked entirely. The surveyor had buggered up his block estimates and as such, the estate was inaccessible from the road. It did not create a tremendous amount of work ... if only it were not required the following morning. As it was Baker, Baker and Davison's mistake they did not wish to risk the ire of the client by asking for more time - not even an extra morning. Everyone was required to stay back, make changes, and do checks.

They were lucky to get out of there at the time they had, really, Matt thought. Everyone had worked hard. At the end of the evening Mr. Baker, who'd stayed with them to supervise (and even performed checks himself) clasped Matt on the shoulder.

"Good effort, Smith."

That made the brutal evening worth it. 

Matt went into the bathroom. He splashed his face, brushed his teeth, readied himself for bed. When he came out he was surprised to see a line of artificial light beneath his door. He ... hadn't left the lamp on, had he? He opened the door and all at once, he saw why it was on. 

Karen lay on his bed, her feet tucked beneath the blanket to keep warm. She was on her stomach, arms under her body. She woke with a start when he shut the door, coming awake with surprising speed.

"You're back," she wiggled on to her knees, smoothing her hair.

"Yeah..." he replied, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice. He wasn't sure why she was _here_. It was very unusual. "What are you doing here, Kaz?"

She frowned.

Then it hit Matt like a train. 

"Oh... geez. Fuck. I'm sorry. I forgot."

"You forgot me."

He did _not_ like the way she was looking at him. Her eyes were narrowed, gaze level, lips a firm hard line. 

"I didn't ... things got complicated at work," he explained, exasperated. He took off his bag and laid it on a chair, his jumper quick to follow. "The fucking surveyor stuffed everything up, we had to rework the plans ... it was a nightmare."

"So you just forgot me."

"It just got busy, okay?" He said testily. "I didn't do it on purpose. I didn't go out instead, I just forgot you were coming round for tea." Beat. "Have you had tea?"

"Mrs. Shaw and I ate downstairs."

"Good."

"We saved some for you."

"Not hungry," he said, irritably. 

"You didn't even _telephone_."

"I said it caught us by surprise! I'm sorry, all right?"

"I phoned you and nobody answered."

Annoyed with her relentless nettling, he dropped in the armchair and pulled off his shoes. "The girls went home. None of us were answering phones, Karen."

"What if I'd been meeting you at a restaurant? I'd still be sitting there. On my own."

"Well you weren't! Jesus, Karen, just give me a minute, here! I'm fucking exhausted. I'm sorry! I fucked up! Now just shut up for a sec, all right?"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out. She'd take it badly. They'd not really fought before and he couldn't remember raising his voice to her in the past. He looked up, expecting to see her clambering gracelessly off the bed, eyes averted, back stiffened. Yet Karen wasn't moving. She was still kneeling on his bed and as he watched, she settled down more comfortably.

It was peculiar enough to shock some of the anger out of him. Shoes off, Matt steepled his fingers and took a few deep breaths. He looked over at her again.

"I'm sorry," he said, calmer. "I shouldn't have forgotten you, no matter what."

Karen managed a little smile. "Okay. Sorry I was ... at you. I was starting to get worried."

_Not worried enough that you couldn't sleep,_ Matt thought. He flopped back, legs spread, arms thrown over the armrests. "What a fucking day. Shoulder's killing me."

"Again? You should get that checked out."

"Yeah ... one of these days. I will."

She tossed her head back. "Come over here. I'll rub it."

Matt considered telling her to leave off. He was tired, grumpy, and didn't feel like the company. However, Karen was being pretty reasonable about being forgotten, far more reasonable than he would've given her credit for. At any rate, it was too late for her to be sent home. He certainly wasn't going to go out again to drive her home. He could smuggle her out in the morning - Mrs. Shaw was lovely, but she wouldn't approve Karen staying the night in his room. So he gave a glum little nod and stood, unbuttoning his shirt. He rubbed his ribs through his vest and plodded to the bed, where Karen shuffled over to give him room. 

He crashed facedown on to the bed. The mattress bounced and springs creaked. Karen waited until they had stopped moving, then slung her leg over his hips. She settled herself astride his lower back and leaned forward, shaping her fingers into pliant paddles. She went to work on his shoulder. They'd done this before; Karen knew where to start prodding, and was soon rewarded with a groan from Matt that was in equal parts agony and relief.

"I love you," he grumbled into the pillow as he felt the stubborn knot in his shoulder loosening. "That feels so good."

"Not too hard?"

"Nah. Perfect. Well ... go harder if you like."

She put her own shoulders into the effort and he groaned louder.

"Ssh! You'll wake one of your housemates," she whispered.

"Don't care. Feels good. You're smashing."

After awhile, Karen attended to his other shoulder. That was sore too, but took far less time to ease out the kinks. She didn't spend long on it before gliding back to his right shoulder. It ached but definitely felt looser.

"That better?"

"Yeah. Loads. Can stop if you like ... hands must be getting sore," he said. Matt felt her move off him. He turned over. She sat with her legs curled around one side of her body, rubbing her hands. Matt leaned forward just far enough to kiss her bare knee and then lay back. "Thanks, love."

"You're welcome. Get it seen to properly. I don't know what I'm doing, really."

"You're doing it right. Feels loads better already. Looser. See, couldn't do that with my arm before. You're a star." He patted the bed next to him. Now that his shoulder was soothed, his good humour returned and he was grateful for her company. "Lie down."

"Nah ... don't want to."

Matt angled his head to see her better, confused. He wasn't sure of her state of mind; she didn't seem angry anymore, she'd massaged his shoulder, but she didn't want to lie with him?

He rubbed her calf. "I'm sorry, Kaz. I really am, I won't - "

"It's not that. It's not that."

"What's the matter? Something's up ... is that why you didn't nick off earlier?"

She nodded, staring at her knees.

"Come here." He waved her down again, but Karen just shook her head. "Kaz, come on. What is it? Your Dad?"

Head shake.

"Work?"

Head shake.

"Have I done something, something else?"

Another head shake.

Exasperated, he squeezed her leg. "Talk to me."

"I'm pregnant."

"Pardon?"

Karen finally looked at him. Her gaze sank into his and for the first time he saw past his weariness and lingering distraction of work. She was terrified. He should've seen it from the moment she walked into the bedroom ... and then her words soaked into his skin. This was no joke. This was as real as life got: Karen telling him she was pregnant.

_Pregnant._

Slowly, he sat up. He no longer felt any complaint from his muscles. Sensation had completely left his body because _Karen was pregnant..._ Naturally, his mind immediately flew to denial, because this was just not fucking _possible._

"And you're ... sure. Of this. You're _quite_ sure."

"Yes. I'm ... quite sure."

"Because there's loads of other things it could be, you should see a -"

"I went this afternoon. The doctor's quite sure. So I'm quite sure."

It occurred to Matt that he was staring, and he had no clue how long he'd been doing it for. He coughed. "How far along?"

"He said, six and a half weeks."

"Six and a half ... weeks ... right ... sorry, just ... need a second here."

"Take as long as you like."

Matt sat up fully. He resisted the urge to push off the bed and pace, walk until the matter resolved itself or until he could make sense of it. Compulsively, he dragged his fingers through his hair. 

"So you're having a baby."

"Yeah that's um ... generally the uh ... endgame of you know ... pregnancy." Karen's tone was not condescending or jovial. She sounded as stunned as he felt. 

He tried to put this into perspective. Karen was pregnant. Her stomach was going to swell, and in a few short months, she would be holding a baby in her arms. He'd never even seen Karen with a baby. She was going to have to stop working, bloody hell, she wouldn't like that. In a few years she'd have her hand in a toddler's, sticky with sweets, clomping on fat legs and gabbling jumbled sentences. She'd be a mother. His girlfriend, a mother. _Karen_ , silly, funny Karen, twenty-one and thin and ginger ... a mother. Cradling a swaddled, brand-new little baby ... _his_ little baby.

_That_ was a whole new reality to cope with. It was hard enough picturing Karen as a mother, but he ... a father? He did not feel the need to insult Karen by demanding confirmation that this baby was his. Karen was pregnant with _his_ child. 

Fatherhood was something Matt always wanted - eventually. He was close to his own Dad, who used to drive him the longest distances to play footy, giving them weekly bonding opportunities where they talked about absolutely everything. His father had instilled in him a powerful work ethic and Matt had grown into adult resolved that when it was his turn to be a father, he'd be just like his old man. _Eventually._ One. Day. Not ... like this. 

He wasn't ready.

Ideal circumstances aside ... he _wasn't_ ready to be a father. He had no idea how to _be_ a father! And Karen, he was damn sure, had no clue how to be a mother. She didn't even know how to drive!

"Karen," he said, eyes searching the covers as if the answer to this lay in the cotton, "I don't know if I can - "

"It's fine," she abruptly said. Matt looked up. She was smiling tightly at him, a smile which did not reach her eyes. "It's fine. I understand. Really. I do. I wouldn't want to either, if I could. I'm not going to expect ... it's my problem."

"Don't you dare."

Matt spoke without warning, without even meaning to. Karen blinked in surprise. Her words triggered something inside him, something that resisted her dismissal and suddenly twisted a great deal of uncertainty inside of him into something he could trust.

"Don't you dare, Karen. It's you and me. I'm not that guy."

He caught a glimpse of hope in her eyes before she replaced it with forceful practicality. Gently, she said, "Matt. I know you're not. I'll never think you _are_. But I'm _giving_ you this ... out. I love you - "

"- Karen - "

" - and I'm not going to take your life and - "

" - Karen - !"

" - tear it to pieces and have you _hate me in years to come._ I'm not. I won't. I'd rather do this by myself than have you hate me. Because you will, it'll change everything, and there is so much you want to do and I'm not going to be the one who takes everything from you!"

For a few seconds the only sound was Karen's laboured breathing as she struggled not to cry. She wiped under her eyes. 

"Can I talk now?" Matt asked. 

He moved closer to her and gently took one of her hands. He stroked the backs of his fingers against her smooth, narrow wrist. It would take him a long time to fully come to terms with their ... situation, but Matt knew _himself_. And he knew how he felt about her. He could lie awake later and fret and try to adjust - there was not time now.

Quietly, he said, "Don't take this from me." He looked up. "I'm in love with you. I think I always will be."

He didn't know how she did it but somehow, Karen managed to get on top of the sudden surge of emotion seizing her. He saw it take her whole body, squeezing her from the inside, and the twist of her features as she forced back the tears. 

"What are we going to do?" She whispered.

There was only one answer. Matt gave her a brave little smile and shrugged one shoulder. He squeezed both her hands. "We'll get married."

She made a funny, strangled little noise. "But we don't want to get married."

"Not yet ... no. Been laughing about it, haven't we." Beat. "I was always going to marry you, Kaz."

Karen moved her hand to her mouth to muffle another sob. His fingers were still entwined with hers, and he felt several hot, salty tears fall on to his hand. 

He continued. "I would've liked a better job, more money first ... and a nice house to put you in when we married ... I thought about it, you know." Matt paused. A new, rather startling thought struck him. They _had_ laughed about the idea. Matt gave it serious thought when he was alone, but never discussed it in any real context with Karen. ".....you _did_ want to marry me eventually too ... right?"

Her head came up and she nodded, using both their hands to wipe under her eyes. "Yes. Of course. I did. But ... later. For the right reasons."

"We love each other, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then there's nothing wrong about this. Nothing it's just ... sooner. You'll be ... Mrs. Smith. Kaz. D'you like the sound of that?"

She nodded, trying to go with his positive spin. "Yeah."

"My missus."

"And we can live together."

"Yeah!" Matt seized on her contribution to the conversation. "We can. We'll get a new place, right, for you and me. Won't be as nice as what I would've liked ... but you don't mind waiting, hey?"

"No. I don't mind." She suddenly burst into a little spell of tears, the tension too much for her. They practically fell into one another's arms. He gripped her tightly, but all he could think was _fuck. Oh fuck. Oh god oh fuck oh god..._

Matt pulled away a little as soon as the worst of the tears were over. He wondered how long she'd known, if she'd been keeping this to herself. "When'd you find out, Kaz?"

"Today."

"Does anyone else know?"

"No. Freema ... the other day I said something to her about how I was late, you know, _late_ , and she made a few comments in passing and I thought oh god, what if she's right, so I made an appointment and ... yeah."

"Okay. Okay." His mind clicked into overdrive. The longer he thought about what they had to do, the longer he could put off dealing with _why_ they were doing it. "Okay. I've got a plan. You wanna hear it?"

Karen nodded quickly. She probably hadn't given the matter any thought at all, at least not beyond offering him a way out. Matt didn't have a plan, despite having said he did, and had to think on the fly.

He kissed her temple. He felt sort of panicky, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest. "Okay. This is what we do. We'll go see your parents on Friday night. Tell them. We'll go up to my parents' place ... stay the weekend, tell them. And we'll do it soon, okay. Get married .. registry office, not glamorous, love, sorry ... but better we do it sooner than later. Before you ... before it's obvious. We'll find a new flat. Yours is no good, this place ... too small. Okay?"

"Okay. Okay," she breathlessly agreed. "Oh god, my parents ... are you sure? You really want to do this?"

"Kaz. Come on. This is going to piss your father off so much. How could I resist?"

They laughed. It was nervous, almost hysterical, laughter. 

"Oh my god. We're getting married," Karen breathed, painfully squeezing his shoulders. "We're getting married. Oh god. Mrs. Smith."

"Mrs _Matthew Robert_ Smith." He searched her face as though seeing her for the first time. "You'll be my wife."

More laughing. This time it tapered off quickly, leaving them staring at one another and remembering the _why._ Matt's hand drifted down her body and stilled over her stomach. She was pregnant. His baby.

"Do you feel different?" He whispered.

"I've been sick in the mornings. But I didn't put two and two together."

"Do you feel ... different, though? Like a ... mother, or something?"

"No. Just scared." His eyes flickered up to her face as she continued. "Was so frightened of what you'd do. Say. Think. And I'm so scared of ... being pregnant, you know. Changing and ... I'm so scared. I am. Are you?"

Matt nodded quickly. It felt therapeutic, actually - confessing this to her, rather than trying to be the big strong man who feared nothing and had everything under control. "I'm shit scared, Karen, I don't even know how scared I am yet."

"Bit of a shock."

"Fucking big shock."

"I'm sorry."

"It's half my fault." Beat. "But how does this even ... you were on the Pill, we've been using rubbers ..."

"I don't know. Dr. McGann just said it happens sometimes, it doesn't matter how careful you are."

He nodded, though that explanation wasn't enough for him. They'd been _careful_. He wasn't a complete fucking idiot. They didn't deserve ... no.

No, he wasn't going down this road. It had happened, it had fucking happened, and unfair or not they just had to wear it now. By unspoken, mutual consent they lay down on the bed and simply held one another for the longest time.

"What will your Mum and Dad say?" Karen finally murmured.

"I think ... they'll worry, but they'll say we're doing the right thing. No need to ask what _yours_ will think."

"Final nail in the coffin I think."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Our friends are going to give us so much flack."

"Let's just not tell them."

"What about when you get big?" He smirked at her.

"I'll tell them its the new fashion."

This time, it was the laughter of sane people. They pressed their foreheads together, breathing one another in, gathering up shards of strength to cocoon themselves with. Everything was changing. They were taking the first tentative steps into the new life chosen for them ... and taking them together.

"I love you," Karen whispered. "We can do this, can't we?" 

"Yes. We'll be all right. We'll be happy, won't we?"

"We will. I know it. We're good together. You and me and ... and our ..."

Matt closed his eyes briefly. He understood. It was difficult for him to say, too. "...baby."

Neither of them got much sleep that night. He knew Karen's sounds well by now - she didn't breathe nearly as deeply as she did when fast asleep. What's more, they spent the entire night holding one another so close, constantly aware how the other lay. 

They were scared to death.


	17. Family

Karen lost count of the number of cigarettes Matt smoked that night. He struck matches and smoked one after another, the ends glowing orange in the dark, outlining his strong features. The prevalent smell began to make her feel faintly sick; but she said nothing. She pretended to sleep and since he did not disturb her, guessed her ploy worked. The smoking stopped only when the packet emptied: she listened to him feeling about for more without success, sigh and cast the empty box aside when he realised they were spent.

But he didn't go to sleep. He lay awake, too.

Karen thought he might've been angry with her; she had anticipated that, but so far he hadn't shown any such emotion. She wondered if it was still to come. Perhaps it was delayed. Perhaps, one night as she paced the floor of their slapdash shared flat with a cheap ring on her finger, patting the back of a screaming baby, he would come out of the bedroom tired and angry, demanding to know why she had let herself fall pregnant. 

She didn't want to cast Matt in that light. It was unfair of her, but she had to prepare herself. The shock had not worn off; neither of them really knew what to feel or think.  Tonight, however, he kept her in his arms. When she turned over he was right behind her, arm looping over her waist, knees fitting in behind hers. He was almost as scared as she was - _almost_ , Karen believed, because _nobody_ could possibly be as frightened as her.

The room gradually lightened with grey dawn. Karen dozed. Typical - she had to rise soon, so her mind decided it wanted to sleep. Matt stretched his body against the length of hers, sucked in a long deep breath, and ran his hand down her arm. She felt his chest vibrate against her back when he spoke.

"I can drive you home to change, then take you to work. Mr. Baker said we could come in later, since we worked back so late."

No good morning Karen, are you awake, Karen? Of course not. He knew her too well by now. She felt his hand slip into hers, close around her fingers, and press them against her chest. Matt drew her close.

"Or you could phone in sick. You must be exhausted."

"No. I'll go in ... give it a go, you know."

Matt kissed her bare shoulder. She wore only her knickers, bra and slip, not having any nightwear kept at Matt's, and hardly being in the mood to have undressed completely. His lips lingered against her skin, then he rested his chin in the crook of her neck.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"No," his cheek lay against hers, prickly with stubble, "I love you. I'm properly in love with you. You're having my baby, Kaz. Do you realise how amazing that is?"

She nodded, though it didn't feel amazing to her. Karen just felt scared and worried and the sickness she had experienced the last week was kicking in right on time. She didn't like the idea of being pregnant, truth be told. All other complications aside - work, marriage, her parents - the toll this would take on her body was terrifying. Something was _growing_ inside her like a parasite. 

Matt was still talking (bless his cotton socks) but it wasn't helping. "I've been thinking all night. I keep coming back to this same thought, picture this, Kaz, you and me in bed like this on a Sunday morning. Cups of tea, being lazy, and you're holding this little baby. I was just trying to imagine it at first. Then I couldn't get it out of my head: this baby wrapping its little hand round my finger. Just lying there, looking up at us. I _like_ the idea, Kaz. I really do. The more I thought about it the less scared I feel. Then I stop and I'm back at trying to work out how we're going to make ends meet - I don't make a lot of money yet, Karen - but when I got really stressed my mind just went back to this image of us in bed with our baby. Hey, where are you going?"

He was talking far too much; she had the feeling this was Matt's fear running away with him. She'd never heard him talk so fast and freely. But that was the least of her worries. Karen sat up and pushed away his arm. Her nausea was getting worse.

"I'm going to be sick in about thirty seconds, Matt, can you move your hand?"

His hand abruptly withdrew.

Karen didn't rush. She knew exactly how long she had to make it to the bathroom - she went briskly, forgetting that she ought to put her dress on before she went out into the hallway. Karen knelt on the cold floor beside the toilet and retched. 

Knocking started the moment she flushed. She hoped it was Matt - explaining herself to anybody else was going to be a headache. She turned on groaning taps, splashed her face with cold water and rinsed her mouth. The knocking continued.

"In a minute!"

She glared at the door for a few seconds, then turned resolutely back to the sink. She rinsed again, drinking water so cold that her molars ached. There was no towel with which to pat her face dry so she wiped the drops away with her forearm. She ran her fingertip beneath her eyes to erase the worst of her smudged make-up. Karen hated sleeping with her 'face on' - always felt so grubby the next morning.

When she opened the door Matt was on the other side of it, arms crossed, leaning against the balustrade. "Don't go to work."

"I can't stop doing things. It's been this way for awhile."

"When will it stop?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything."

He reached for her hand and led her back to his bedroom. As they dressed Karen felt the tension thickening, her mood souring. She was irritated with no one, specific thing: she'd been sick, she had to go to work, she'd likely be sick tomorrow and didn't know when that would stop. Matt's morning attitude left her perplexed. She almost wanted him to be angry about this - anger she could cope with, this sunny enthusiasm confused her.

"Karen."

"What?"

"You all right?"

" _Yes I'm fine!_ " She snapped, pulling back sheets and savagely making the bed. Matt watched her for a moment, then opened the curtains. She could feel him testing the silence, trying to find a way to broach the subject again without getting his head bitten off. 

A knock on the door. Karen looked at Matt, mouthing, _who?_

He shrugged helplessly and straightened his shirt cuffs. It was the first time she had looked directly at him since snapping; Matt looked very young when he was hurt, and she felt a stab of remorse. 

It was Mrs. Shaw. She wasn't as silly and oblivious as they'd thought - she knew Karen had spent the night. Maybe she hadn't heard her leave, or maybe she'd learned from past occasions that Karen didn't go late in the night. Karen couldn't say that she looked _happy,_ (she wouldn't meet either of their eyes) but she was acknowledging them with the peaceful overture of a breakfast tray.

"Oh, Mrs. Shaw, you shouldn't have."

"Well, you weren't going to make her a proper breakfast, were you."

Matt kissed her cheek and the old lady actually blushed on her way out.

Karen regarded the tray. There were two boiled eggs in pale yellow cups, four slices of buttered toast in a silver rack and a pot of jam. Two teacups were stacked beside a squat, flowery teapot.

"She knows I'm here, then."

"Er, guess so. Have some - have some toast before it gets cold."

There was only the single armchair facing the little end table. Matt motioned for Karen to sit in it. She nibbled around the edges of a piece of toast and poured tea, watching him take everything out of his messenger bag and repack it for the sake of looking busy.

They could spend forty years married to one another like this. 

"I'm sorry."

He looked up, then buckled the bag. "What for?"

"Being difficult."

"It's all right."

"It's not. I'm just a bit out of sorts."

"Understandable."

Karen patted the armchair. "Sit down. Eat your egg. And mine, too. Don't feel like it."

He joined her on the armchair, lifting her up so she was effectively on his knee. He must've been starving from the way he tucked into the eggs and then devoured two slices of toast. After drinking half a cup of tea he leaned back and brought her with him, arms loosely round her middle.

"I wasn't putting you on earlier. I am excited."

"I don't know if you've thought this through."

"I know what I want."

"Are you still going to want it at four o'clock on a Tuesday morning when you can't sleep because a baby's screaming and we're living in a flat with damp on the walls?"

"Kaz ... you can't think like that. I meant what I said. It was always going to be you." He hesitated, and then she heard the tension in his voice. "I can't have you second-guessing me forever, Karen. It'll drive me bonkers. Trust me."

"I do trust you."

"You _don't._ I can hear it in your bloody voice, Karen, I'm not a complete idiot."

"I didn't _say_ \- "

"If this is going to work we need to trust each other, okay, that starts now. I can't have you thinking - "

"I'm not thinking anything!"

"You are. You're thinking I'm just saying this without having thought it through, and in a few months I'll hate you and we'll be miserable. I know you're thinking it, Karen!"

"Just leave it alone! I don't want to talk about it!"

"We _have_ to talk about it! We've got a lot to work out!"

"I know! I trust you, okay!"

"Then what's the problem?!"

" _I don't want to have a baby!_ " She snapped, feeling a lump forming in her throat. "I'm not ready. I have stuff I want to do! I haven't had a chance to work it all out but there's _stuff_ I want to do!"

Matt's fingers stroked her hair back from her forehead. It felt good, soothing. Quietly, he said, "you can still do all that stuff, Karen."

"I can't. My life's _over_ ," she sniffed pathetically. "All I wanted was to be independent I'm going to have this thing in me wanting everything and taking everything and I _don't want it._ "

"You've got me, Kaz. You're not on your own."

"You're not the one who has to have the stupid thing!"

"Stop calling it that."

"What?"

"A _thing._ It's a baby."

She hated his stupid calm and his stupid fingers. Karen slapped them away and tried to sit up but he held fast to her waist. Firmly, he said, "settle down."

"Don't you tell me to settle down!"

"Karen, I'm bloody warning you, just settle down!"

She twisted her neck to see him, startled and curious. Distracted. "You're _warning_ me? What does that mean?"

"It means I'm - means I'm giving you a warning to settle down. Or else."

"...or else what?"

"Or else I'll get cross."

Karen raised her eyebrows and tried not to laugh. "You'll get cross."

"You've not seen me cross. When I get cross I get ... scary."

"Scary."

" _So_ scary."

"How scary?"

"The scariest."

Karen and Matt looked at one another for a couple of seconds, then dissolved into laughter. She stopped struggling and relaxed against his body. His fingers resumed stroking her hair. 

"Do you think," Matt said very, very carefully, "that it's just a bit of a shock, and when you've warmed to the idea a bit, you'll not be so ... against it?"

She didn't think so. "Maybe."

Tension left his body when she didn't start another fight. "Let's get together tonight. We'll see what we can afford and look at flats next week, okay? See your parents Friday night ... then drive straight on to Northampton ... come back Sunday night."

"When will we do the ... thing? Marrying."

"Can we check with my Mum and Dad? They'll want to come."

"They'll hate me for this."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "They won't. Anyway. They couldn't possibly come close to how much your parents are going to hate _me._ "

"You know," Karen mused with a kind of malicious pleasure, "I'm almost looking forward to telling mine."

 

 

Proud, stupid talk, that's all Karen's bluff was. She sat in Matt's car after seeing her parents, crying floods of uncontrollable tears. There was nothing Matt could do for her - he was in rather a state himself, staring out the dark window and stroking her knee. Karen buried her face in her palms and cried, and cried, and then cried some more.

It was an unmitigated disaster from the start. They had been seated in the drawing room and trying to win her parents over with smalltalk. No warmth was generated in the attempt. Finally, Karen had brightly announced she and Matt had good news and were going to get married within the month.

And that was all her parents had to hear to know she must be pregnant.

Mrs. Gillan cried and asked a lot of questions that revolved around, "why would you do this?" Mr. Gillan raved.

He called them irresponsible; he told them they had brought this on themselves with reckless behaviour. He blamed the cafe and Mr. Capaldi. He assured them they would never, ever, get a penny from him to fund their _delinquent lifestyle._  

And that was just the warm up. Matt had Karen on her feet by then, hustling her out. 

Mr. Gillan insisted this was a match without his permission or blessing and as such, he washed his hands of them both. And of the child, which he said (much to Mrs. Gillan's dismay) he never wanted to see. 

"Mum!" Karen had cried, heartbroken that her mother did not even try to interfere.

"Raymond - " Mrs. Gillan finally tried, but it was too little too late.

Mr. Gillan had stabbed his finger at Matt. "It's his get, we'll have none of it. She made her choice, Marie, she can live with it now! She'll be back here in a year, crawling on her hands and knees after he's buggered off, she might as well save her last pennies and know now the _door is shut!_ "

His brutality astonished Matt; for a few moments he was rendered speechless. Matt's anger was burning so hot that he did not know how to manage it. It boiled, fierce and dangerous within him. His hand crushed Karen's fingers.

In a taut voice which shook with barely contained emotion, he'd replied, "I will never leave her. She's going to have my baby, Mr. Gillan, and let me tell you, that means I will love her for _ever._ It'll be a cold day in hell that you come anywhere near my family again."

So Matt effectively burned the bridge and therefore felt ill-equipped to comfort Karen as she cried her seemingly endless stream of tears. He stared listlessly out of the window. Wondered what the _fuck_ it was about him that was so utterly repellent to Karen's father. It was not a good exercise in self-esteem.

He spoke only when her sobs had faded to sniffles. With a little hesitation, he reached toward her - and when Karen didn't shy away he allowed his hand to cup her cheek, stroking away the tears with his thumb.

"I lost my temper. I'm sorry."

She shook her head and pressed her hand against his. "No. You were good." She slouched down in the seat and ran her hands over her face. "You were ... I should be sorry. The way he talks to you ... disgusting."

"He didn't talk to either of us. He talked _about_ us to your mother, like we weren't even in the bloody room."

"Guess they're not coming to the wedding, then."

"Guess not."

Karen sighed and they fell silent, watching headlights approach and tail lights fade in the mirrors, a city breathing around them while their own world ground to a halt.

"I liked that word you used."

"Which one?"

"Family."

 

 

The following morning Matt and Karen, with Laura tagging along in the backseat for the whirlwind visit home, started the drive to Northampton. It was a very strange journey. Karen had fully anticipated that she would be a wreck after the confrontation with her parents and the near-sleepless night she'd had ... but it felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her father had responded in the worst possible way (okay, perhaps the worst possible way was actually shooting Matt, thank goodness his service pistol had stopped functioning years ago) and she was now adrift ... but it was _over_. The stand Matt had taken was meant for her father but it was Karen who took the most away from it. She believed what Matt had said. _All_ of it.

Karen prepared cheese and ham paste sandwiches for the trip and wrapped up a few slices of a fruitcake Freema's Mum made. They ate them at ten o'clock in the morning in Toddington, because it was roughly halfway, wandering around the car to stretch their legs.

"Why are you taking Karen home to see Mum and Dad ... _now?_ " Laura asked, clearly unleashing a suspicion nagging her for the entire drive. "What's so important about doing it right now?"

"We had a free weekend," Matt explained, dusting the crumbs off his hands. "We thought, why not? Karen's never been."

They had agreed not to tell Laura before they had the opportunity to speak to his parents.

"Sorry about the short notice," Karen added. They had only asked Laura to come the day before last.

"Yeah we sort of thought about doing this weeks ago," Matt lied - unnecessarily, in Karen's book. "Meant to ask you along, kept forgetting. Good thing you didn't have any jobs booked this weekend."

"Well, I did," Laura heaved a dramatic sigh and leaned against the car. "Then they realised the dress samples they'd been sent were a size down from me. So it was send the dresses back or replace the model. No prizes guessing who got the flick." She looked Karen up and down. "I'll say it again, _you_ should have a go at it. You've got the look everyone keeps banging on about, Karen. The legs. That skinny little waist. I've too much chest, me, I lose so many jobs because they don't like hips and tits."

"I'm your brother, and I'm standing right here."

"It's true," Laura insisted. "It's just the way it is. They like them built like Karen these days. You should really give it a try. I can introduce you to some people, take you to some go-sees ..."

"Nope," Matt said bluntly. "Karen's not interested in stomping all over London like you. She's got a good job."

"There's no harm in doing it part-time. She's three days off a week, right Karen? You could easily fit some jobs in there."

Matt shook his head, annoyed. "Laura, just leave it. I've told you before she's not keen."

" _You're_ not keen," Laura corrected, frowning at him. "You're the one who doesn't want her doing it. I bet you're just jealous."

He laughed. "Of?"

"The attention she'd get!"

"No. I'm not jealous. Karen's working anyway. Got a good job. Just leave it alone, Laura."

Laura looked to Karen with a _my-brother-is-such-a-hypocritical-twat_ expression. "Just one or two go-sees," she implored.

She knew Laura meant well. From Laura's stories, modeling was difficult work and yet enormously fun. She was invited to some incredible parties in London and rubbed shoulders with famous people all the time! Just last week she'd been at a party and met Paul McCartney. Karen had nearly died of envy. Sometimes, Karen gave Laura's encouragement serious consideration. If she had the look, then why not? She could always give it up if it didn't work out and stick with her job at Hamleys. The extra money wouldn't go astray. But Matt had never been very fond of the idea. He always seemed so cool and forward-thinking - the hint that he could actually hold on to some of those staunchy, old-fashioned ideas of the last generation was a little discomforting.

Besides. It didn't matter now. Nobody would want to hire a pregnant model.

Karen shrugged helplessly at Laura. She wadded up the brown paper lunch bag and took it to the little bin on the side of the road.

"Don't let him tell you what to do, Karen," Laura warned. "Otherwise he'll get to liking it."

"I don't tell her what to do!" Matt snapped. "Stop being a brat, Laura. Shouldn't have brought you."

"I was just suggesting something she'd be good at! She could make loads of extra money if she just gave it a go," Laura huffed.

Karen reluctantly released her rubbish in the bin and looked up and down the street: anything to avoid going back in the middle of a sibling battleground.

"You're always on about it!"

"I'm not!"

"You are bloody so. Just mind your own business, Laura!"

"Fine, I will! You're such a tosser, Matt. I was just making conversation!"

"No, you were getting deliberately at me and going on about 'oh Karen, don't let Matt be all bossy' like it's the fucking fifties! Karen can do whatever she wants and I'm a hundred percent behind her, so get off my back!"

Karen heard the car door open. "Fine!" Slam.

"Karen, we're going!" 

The rest of the journey was incredibly uncomfortable. Karen swapped between radio stations to find the best songs, while Laura and Matt passed the time pretending one another weren't in the car. Or by trading barbs. When it began to wade back into nastier waters, Karen finally had enough of them both and snapped.

"So glad I'm an only child!"

She turned up the Kinks and that put an end to the sniping.

They arrived at the Smith residence in time for a proper lunch. Matt's mother went to a great deal of effort with the spread, which was eaten in the comfortable front room. Both his parents were as charming and affable as they had been when the first met Karen in the Chinese restaurant, filled with excitement that she was finally in their home. And his home was beautiful; semi-detached and well appointed with a very green, tidy garden. Flowers bloomed in bright, neat flowerbeds. Far more modest than Karen's.

She was put in Laura's bedroom. There were matching twin beds with peach-coloured coverlets. Stuffed toys leaned against the pillows. It was clear little had been altered since Laura had moved to London. It reminded Karen, with a pang, of her own bedroom. She wondered if her things would remain permanently spread there, as though she might come home at any moment and climb into bed.

"This is a nice room," Karen commented, picking up a scuffed doll with long, woolen braids. "I could never bear to give away my dolls, either."

"I had them in the cupboard when I left," Laura said, gathering up the teddies and stuffed cats. "Mum brought them out again after I moved out. Mums are funny like that, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Karen agreed, passing Laura the doll, "Mums are funny."

Karen took her cues from Matt as to when the news was to be broached. She tried not to look at him too often over the course of the afternoon, and then thought perhaps it was suspicious that she did not look at him at all, so tried to act more natural. As they ate their pudding that evening Karen tried to tally up the number of times she probably looked at Matt during the course of an ordinary day. She was completely aware what an exercise in pointlessness it was, but it kept her mind from the conversation they'd be having.

Or she hoped they'd be having. All they had decided was that they'd do it, but not precisely when. God, if he wanted to sleep on this she thought she'd explode. Karen needed this sorted out, and soon. One way or another.

She put down her spoon. Karen had barely made a dent in her chocolate pudding. It had been a struggle to eat Mrs. Smith's dinner - achieved only out of the sheer desperation not to appear rude. She felt Matt's hand cover her knee beneath the table and she looked up. He squeezed it, smiled a little. It was time.

"Mum, Dad, there's been a bit of news actually ... came up to tell you something important."

God, he sounded so confident, so calm. Karen felt his hand shift from her knee to take hers and bring it on to the table.

"I've asked Karen to marry me ... and she's said yes."

That isn't true, Karen thought. Matt _hadn't_ asked her to marry him ... they'd agreed that they _should._ That awful night, only a few days prior, was confused in her mind. She remembered what had happened but the order jumbled itself up. But she was certain he'd never proposed. She didn't even have a ring.

Mrs. Smith's hands flew delightedly to her mouth. ("Oh, son!") Laura gave a squawk of excitement ("You didn't tell me!") and his father stood and leaned over the table, shaking his free hand, congratulating them both. ("Oh well done, well done!")

"When did this happen?!" Mrs. Smith asked, jumping up. She hurried around the table and hugged first Karen, then Matt, from behind while they were still seated. She kissed their cheeks. "When?!"

"Er, the other night," Matt said, laughing. "It just sort of happened, really."

"How did he ask you?" Laura asked, also bounding up to hug them both and then energetically dropping back in her chair. 

"Oh you know ..." _I asked him what we were supposed to do and he said we should get married._ "Just sort of asked."

Mrs. Gillan sat down and looked between them, almost bursting with excitement. "And who else knows?"

"Ah, Karen's Mum and Dad, that's all. And you three."

"And how did they take that?" Mr. Gillan asked with a slightly more somber tone.

Karen went to answer before she realised the words were tangled somewhere in her throat. She gave a little gasp instead. Matt squeezed her hand and she looked at him. He smiled. It was all right. 

Still looking at Karen, he said, "Not well."

"Oh, love," Mrs. Smith soothed. "Oh love, never mind. We'll go and we'll meet them sometime soon, we'll work everything out. When do you think - when were you thinking of a wedding?"

Matt's answer suspended the excitement. "Three weeks."

"Three ..." Mr. Smith looked at his wife. 

Karen could see comprehension dawning. There was only one reason why they would rush. She saw their eyes moving to her hand, noting the lack of engagement ring. Ah. Yes. They understood. And now they'd really have it out.

"You're ..." Mrs. Smith nodded to her stomach.

Karen nodded. "I'm s -"

Matt spoke over her, his voice pleasant yet firm. Obviously rehearsed and ready for a fight if need be. "I was going to marry her anyway. She's the one I want. I would've asked her when I was set up better, bit more money, but it's happened this way and that's that. So I've taken some time off work in three weeks and we'll get married then." Pause. He glanced at Karen and his tone softened. "I love her."

The Smiths reaction was far better than the Gillan's. They were concerned, that was plain to see, but they seemed to have greater faith in their son's choices than the Gillans had in Karen. Laura was thrilled.

"I'll have a sister! I'm so glad it's you. I was always worried Matt would choose somebody awful and I'd have to pretend to like her. How far along are you?"

"Laura!"

"It's not being rude!"

"I'm six and a half weeks," Karen replied.

"You don't look pregnant!"

"These things take awhile to show!" Mrs. Smith admonished her. She leaned over the table and laid her hand over Matt and Karen's. "I think this is very exciting. They're doing the right thing, aren't they, David."

Matt's father was up and pouring two glasses of whisky. He passed one to Matt. "Yes. We'll come down for the wedding ... registry office?"

Matt dipped his head in a quick little nod. "Yeah. Karen's parents ... they're well, not going to come."

Mrs Smith took a deep breath and gave their joined hands a little shake before withdrawing her touch. "They'll come round, love, don't you worry. We'll have a good long chat before you go, talk about things, what to expect."

Karen smiled, overwhelmed with emotion. Gratitude for their acceptance, fear for their situation, misery at her parents' refusal to understand and a little dose of excitement for the future.

"Laura," Mrs Smith stood up, "come into the kitchen, I think everyone needs a second helping of pudding."

Three pairs of eyes watched Mrs Smith and Laura go. Mr Smith lifted his glass, saluting Matt and Karen, and knocked back half of it. 

"You've never done anything the easy way, son. I wish it were different for both your sakes ... but it is what it is." His lips quirked up into a little smile that was remarkably like Matt's. "My first grandchild."


	18. A Fundamental Difference

A rosy light was on in Matt's parents' room. Matt stuck his head through the door and looked around the landing. Laura's bedroom door was closed. The girls were asleep. The shower ran in the bathroom for his father, and the door to his parent's room stood ajar.

A flicker of movement caught Matt's eye. It was Winston, their old white cat, bounding up the stairs with an agility that belied his years. He had to be at least thirteen. The cat leaned against Laura's door, rubbing his fur against it. He remembered his Dad saying Winston had taken to sleeping in Laura's room every night. Smirking, Matt walked over and quietly, carefully, opened Laura's door a crack. Winston squeezed through and Matt shut the door behind him. He hoped the cat decided the most comfortable place to sleep was his sister's face. 

He approached his parents' room. Matt knocked softly and after hearing his mother encourage him in, he opened the door the rest of the way. Lynne Smith was sitting up in bed with her blonde hair set in powder-blue curlers. It was secured with fine mesh knotted at her forehead. She wore a yellow bed jacket over her nightdress and in her hands was a magazine. She smiled.

"Come in, love!"

"Not disturbing you?"

"From this old rubbish? No, sit here." Lynne put the magazine on her bedside table and patted the mattress.

Matt sat down, tracing the crocheted coverlet with his fingertip. He was gearing himself up to speak and his mother knew him well enough to wait. He sensed nothing but patience and love from her and in return, felt gratitude swell in his breast.

"Do you like Karen, Mum?"

"Very much. I think she's a very sweet girl."

Matt laughed softly. Sweet, yeah she wasn't so sweet when she was stripteasing and rubbing her stockings between her thighs - that was the sort of thing that had gotten them into this fix. He pushed the image from his mind. "Good. I'm glad, Mum. I know she's young, but she's ... she looks after me."

"Well, we can't ask for any more than that, can we?"

"She thinks I'll resent her," Matt said, digging his fingertip into the coverlet. "She thinks I've not thought all this through, and I'll blame her later on."

"Do you think you will?"

Matt shook his head, reconsidered, shrugged, and shook it again. "No. I don't know. No. _No._ I know me. I know it's all sudden and rushed but I wouldn't do that. I want her to believe that and I don't think she trusts me."

Lynne's hand found his. "She's got a lot on her mind, son."

"I know. Yeah. But ... it's funny, Mum, in school they used to talk about birds who'd get pregnant on purpose to trap a bloke into marrying them."

"You don't think ...?"

"No! She's _terrified_ , Mum. She doesn't even want to have it. She was calling the baby a thing! She said there's stuff she wants to do and now her life is over. What am I supposed to say to that, you know? Then she's telling me I'll resent her but I think she'll resent me. I think she already does. She'll think I'm the guy who stole her life."

The words just poured out of Matt. He could never have spoken so freely to anyone about this except his mother. She squeezed his fingers. 

"Do you want me to have a chat to her?"

He shook his head quickly. "No. I dunno. If you want. Just don't say anything about this, okay?"

"Of course not, love." Her thumb slowly stroked his hand. "There's lots you're going to go through together, Matthew. Big changes. But there's a lot of things that will affect her more than you. Her body, for one. Her figure's going to change ... she might be sick - "

"She's ill in the mornings."

"She's got to face a lot of very scary changes before you have to. I know you're doing what you can, but I think ...now I could be wrong, I don't know her like you do, but I think she's feeling very alone at the moment. All that messy business with her parents, shame on them, perhaps she feels she's ... alone. Dependent on you."

Matt mumbled, "She's obsessed with being independent. She lied to her parents to take typing lessons to get her job. Moved out because they wouldn't have me round. She gets funny about it."

"Sounds like she loves you very much," Lynne smiled.

"No doubt," Matt agreed. "But this is ...what if she ... stops?"

"Oh." His mother opened her arms to him and Matt came forward, leaning against her shoulder. She smelled of soap and lavender, the two smells he commonly associated with his mother. She rubbed his back. "Come on now. Don't think like that. It's early days yet. You can't go round thinking that way ... it'll do your head in. Just be good to each other and you'll be all right. You'll see."

Matt drew away. "You're right. Yeah."

She rubbed his hands between hers. "I'm proud of you. Always have been. Working so hard in school and university, living by yourself in London, finding a nice girl. And it's ... unfortunate that things have happened a bit out of order," Lynne gave him a shrewd look, "but I think you're lucky to have one another."

"Yeah. Yeah ... I've not even gotten her a ring yet, Mum. I looked around. They're so expensive. I wanted to get her something nice but when I think about the cost of a new flat, new furniture, I can't justify spending - "

"Hush now. I can help with that," Lynne said. She pointed at the dressing table. "Open the tiny top left drawer."

Matt stared at her in confusion for a moment or two, then got off the bed. The springs squeaked. He moved to the dressing table. It had belonged to Lynne's mother and she fastidiously cared for it, oiling the wood to protect and bring out the colour. Matt saw two little drawers at the top on either side of the oval mirror. He reached for one.

"No, left - Matt, the left!"

He changed direction. There was only one item inside the drawer: a cream, crushed-velvet pouch with yellow knotted drawstrings. He pulled it out and held it where his mother could see. "This?"

"Bring it here."

Matt returned to the bed and passed the pouch to his mother's waiting hand. He knew what it was; he'd seen her show Laura all through his childhood. It was where she kept her mother's jewelry, precious and separate to her own pieces. These were things that would one day go to his sister - remembering that gave Matt a sudden jolt of foreknowledge.

"Mum..."

The pouch was opened and Lynne carefully shook out the contents on to her lap. There were three rings, a string of rosary beads and a pair of earrings that would've once glittered. She placed the rings on her palm and showed them to him, one at a time.

"This was your grandmother's wedding ring. She wore it every day until she died. This one is her ... well, they call them Eternity Rings these days. Your grandfather gave it to her on their twentieth wedding anniversary. I remember her showing it to me when I was fifteen, she was so excited. And this," she held up the last ring, "is her engagement ring. I want you to have it, and give it to Karen."

The ring had studded steps leading to a shining diamond. It was white gold. He must've seen it before on his grandmother's finger, but he could not remember it. It was beautiful in his hand, worth far more than anything he could've afforded.

"Mum, I can't ..."

"It's Art Deco," Lynne continued. "18 karats. I want you to take this, Matt. The engagement ring's no good to Laura. Someone will buy her one of her own, and she's the other two rings to keep for herself. And she had the idea, too. Today she said, 'wouldn't Grandma's ring be nice for Karen?' So you see, Matt, it's meant for you."

"Mum," Matt said in an entirely different tone. When he looked up tears were in his eyes. He was deeply moved by the gift. It was a far more beautiful and expensive ring than he could've hoped to give, and the family history that it came with made it perfect. He leaned forward suddenly and his mother giggled as he kissed her cheeks again and again, unable to put his gratitude into words.

Later, he lay in bed with a cigarette in one hand and the ring in the other. He regarded it thoughtfully. He felt better than he had in days - a good deal was off his chest, and though he was still wracked with uncertainty. He finally felt the anger Karen had not seen. The anger was not aimed at her, just as their situation: it was so unfair that it had happened when everything had been going so well. Matt wondered which coupling had actually gotten her pregnant, when fucking condom _and_ Pill failed. Six and a half weeks, or thereabouts, she'd said. That time in the backseat of his car? The night, hands over one another's mouths, on a Sunday afternoon at his bedsit? The Tuesday after that in her bed, taking her from behind? Jesus, he'd never know.

And then, as quickly as the anger had come, it passed. He turned the ring so the diamond caught the light and smiled. It had happened. That was an unchangeable fact and he couldn't dwell on it. Now, he had a ring. A beautiful ring, and the blessing of his family. He stubbed out his cigarette and turned off the lamp, holding the ring to his chest as he bunkered down. 

It would be all right.

 

It was a pleasant Saturday. Laura left early the next morning to visit old friends, while Lynne, David, Matt and Karen walked into town to pick up a few groceries. Later, Lynne showed Karen how to make her special Bread and Butter Pudding - a favourite of Matt's, she explained. Karen enjoyed the lesson but wasn't sure she'd ever make the dessert for Matt. She didn't like the idea of trying to replicate his beloved mother's recipes in their own kitchen. 

In the afternoon, Lynne sat with Karen. She talked about her pregnancies with Laura (who had come a lot sooner than expected) and with Matt. "Laura was easy to have," Lynne said over their third cup of tea. "She gave me no bother. Our Matt, however ... I was so ill for months!"

"Hope I'm not," Karen reached for another ginger biscuit. She had been ill again that morning. "Did you get any of those weird cravings?"

"Eggs."

"Eggs?"

"Poached eggs. Boiled or fried, wasn't interested. I just wanted poached eggs on toast. Have you had any funny cravings yet?"

"No," Karen replied, dunking her biscuit in the tea. "Just sick."

"My mother told me an old wives' tale about morning sickness. She said you could predict if the baby would be a boy or a girl by how sick you were. She said a girl made you sicker than a boy which ... can't be very true, since I was so ill with Matt ... Tell you what was good for me, though. A cup of tea and a plain biscuit before I got out of bed in the mornings. That always helped settle my tummy before I got up and about!"

Sometime in the late afternoon, and Karen wasn't sure how it happened, but she found herself picking lemons with Matt's father. He refused to allow her up the ladder so she held the hessian sack for him as he clipped stalks with a pair of secateurs. They were very large lemons.

"We used to have two lemon trees," he explained as he carefully dropped the fruit into Karen's waiting sack. "This one, it's not so good. The lemons are very pithy, and not a very strong taste."

"What happened to the other tree?"

"My bloody kids, that's what happened. It was just a young tree but it gave great fruit! Then those bloody two decided to put a cubby in there. They hammered bits of wood in, I don't know what they thought they were going to do with it, but they managed to wreck the whole tree. Split it down the middle, wasn't strong enough for them. It never recovered, so we ripped it out a few years ago."

"I can't picture Matt with a hammer," Karen grinned up at David.

"Hopefully you'll never have to. Never been much good at home repairs - sorry about that, love. More like to hit his thumb than a nail. Some things can't be taught. Clumsy clot."

She shrugged one shoulder good-naturedly. "He's good at other things."

"That he is, love. Couple more up here, then we'll go round the other side."

"Okay. Mr. Smith?"

"Hm?"

Karen looked down into the half-full sack. "Why're ... can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it."

"Ask away."

"My Dad he's ... he's not like you. It was alright when I was little but when I got older we just ... suddenly didn't have anything to say to each other. I don't think he likes me. Please - I'm no saying that for sympathy ... but I don't think he much likes me and well, I don't much like him." She gave the sack a shake to settle the lemons. Tears, surprisingly, felt very far away. She was glad of that. Karen was tired of crying. "I know it's different cos you and Matt are quite close but ... why are you okay with us getting married when my Dad's not? I can't understand that. I mean, if anything, shouldn't it be the other way round? Shouldn't you be mad some girl's forcing your son to marry her, and shouldn't my Dad just be glad I'm gone?"

Mr Smith came down the ladder and regarded her thoughtfully for a moment or two. "You've asked me a lot of questions, Karen."

"Sorry."

"Matt told me about your father's attitude toward him. He thinks it's all about money, but do you know what I think? I think your father's jealous. You say you don't get along with your Dad, have nothing to talk about. Suddenly, there's another man in your life who you listen to and go out with ... I think he could be sad he doesn't have that with you. Perhaps resents Matt for it."

It was a completely different perspective. Puzzled, Karen fidgeted with the hessian sack. Her father, jealous of Matt? It didn't seem ... likely. She was going to have to think that one over. "I dunno."

"And as for being mad, or not being mad," Mr. Smith continued, resting his hands on the ladder rungs, "I think that's because you're a daughter and Matt's a son."

Okay, perhaps asking Mr. Smith for advice was a bad idea. When she went to Mr. Capaldi (Peter!) for advice he had a way of explaining things that she could immediately understand. This was rather different, but not unpleasantly so. "I don't know what you mean."

"If it had been Laura coming home and saying she in the family way and getting married, I might've had a reaction similar to your Dad's. No - I wouldn't have cut her out, but I'd have been very cross."

"Then why not ... Matt?"

"Because he's a man. Karen," he took a breath, as though aware he could offend her, "the way the world works is that a man and woman marry, and the man provides for his lady. He works, he puts the food on the table, and she bears and raises the children. Unfortunately, the man's often the one responsible for whether she's happy or not. It's just the way it is, do you know what I'm saying?"

"...yes..."

"He is the master of the household and _please_ , do not repeat that to Lynne, or I'll never hear the end of it." He smiled. "Now there are good husbands and there are bad husbands. Some bad husbands are just poor providers, though they mean well. Some are worse than that. They hurt their wives. They ignore her needs. They treat her as ... something of a slave in her own home. So Karen, if it were Laura telling me she was marrying a man I barely knew - and had to, because she was in a family way - I would be worried. Angry. Because I wouldn't know who was taking my beautiful daughter and what kind of husband he would be." 

He paused to let that sink in and to catch his breath. When he spoke again there was a wobble of proud emotion in his voice. "But I know my son. I am so proud of him. I know that he will be a good husband. He'll work hard, he'll provide for you, he will always think of your needs and do everything he can to make you happy. I'm not angry because I don't have to worry."

Karen shook her head slightly. His love for Matt was very touching. "But aren't you angry with me then? He's got so much potential. What if I hold him back?"

"Oh, love," Mr. Smith smiled and touched her cheek. "You worry enough for all of us. But _I_ would be worried if you never did. You've his best interests at heart. You love him. I can see that. What more could I possibly want for him?"

For a few seconds they just smiled at one another, fragile with emotion, knowing that to break the silence was to lose composure. Eventually, Karen whispered, "thank you", and he nodded, patting her shoulder. Then, they attacked the fruit on the other side of the tree.

 

 

All day, Matt kept the ring in his pocket. He found himself turning it around in his fingers at odd moments. It was a comfort to him, a tangible hope. He wondered what Grandma would've thought. He didn't miss her: she had died when he was ten. He liked the idea that, by wearing the ring on her finger, his Grandmother would be part of the family again.

"Let's go for a walk, stretch our legs," he suggested to Karen once dinner was over. He would've asked her to go walking even if he didn't have an ulterior motive. They'd little time to be alone together since Friday night - which was only a day ago, but given their proximity it seemed like longer. 

Lynne excused them at once. She had been the one to present him with the ring; she knew what was on his mind. From the way Laura smirked as she stacked plates she knew, too. His father alone remained unreadable, cleaning his glasses.

"It's a nice evening," his father said, "mind you say hello to Mr Cribbins if you see him with his roses. Tell him I send my regards."

Karen went upstairs for a warmer cardigan and came down a few minutes later, meeting Matt on the front step. It was insane the way his heart pounded inside his chest, nerves breeding frantic butterflies in his stomach. They were already engaged, technically - she would say yes. It was _arranged_. But this was ritual and tradition: it made everything seem exciting instead of terrifying, and very, very real.

He took her hand and nodded down the street. "There's a park down the road a ways. Used to go there as a kid."

They started down the road at a leisurely pace. It was much cooler now that the sun was setting but Matt was so nervous that he barely noticed it. 

"I didn't know you had a cat," Karen mused.

"Hmm? Oh, Winston. Yeah. Mum's cat. He comes and goes. She reckons someone the next street over's feeding him."

"Well someone is - he's heavy. He jumped on my stomach when I was asleep last night. Came out of nowhere. Scared the daylights out of me."

Oh. Whoops. Matt smirked and looked away. "You having a good visit, then? You seem, er ..."

"Less stressed?" She sounded faintly amused.

"Something like that," he agreed. He gave her hand a little squeeze. "It's getting out of London that does it. It's good to get away."

"And your parents."

"Yeah, they're fab. You and Mum have a good chat about ... things?"

She nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "She was good, yeah. Gave me sort of a uh, better idea of what to expect."

"When are you going back to Dr. McGann?"

"End of next week. He gave me the number of a midwife I can telephone, said she could come check on me and things."

The park was a very small, green patch on first viewing. There were a couple of spreading oaks and smaller, tufty trees and bushes lining the edges. A metal slide twisted into a square of sand and a swing set creaked in the barely-there breeze. As they walked deeper it became apparent that the park flowed into a narrow corridor between houses, fences rising on either side. The sound of domestic suburbia flowed over the tops. 

Matt pointed at the slide as they passed it. "I used to think that was enormous, when I was little."

After the green corridor the park opened up. A small creek cut into the thick grass, spotted with wildflowers. On the other side was a seemingly endless green field. Trees clung to the riverbank, branches draped low.

"It's like the Secret Garden," Karen laughed. "Did you ever read that book?"

"No?"

"Oh it was about these kids ... but there was this secret garden and the old man kept it hidden because the woman he loved had been killed in it."

"Nice, Karen."

"Falling branch."

"Well, avoid trees." He nudged them to the left, heading for the wooden bridge spanning from one bank to the other. "We weren't allowed to play here as kids. We were allowed to go to the little park, but not down here without one of them. Sometimes I used to come this far and Laura would be screaming 'I'll tell Dad!'"

"Tattle-tale."

"Nah, she never actually told. I'd come back just before she ran off. I guess they were afraid we'd drown in the creek or something. I don't remember anything bad ever happening down here, though."

The started across the wooden bridge. It was a simple structure, built to serve a purpose, but it was pretty in its setting. A flat, sanded wooden hand rail ran along either edge - just slightly too low to be practical. Matt watched Karen picking up fallen leaves and sticks. She cast them into the water on one side of the bridge, then ran to the other to watch them sail by. It was endearing, really, the enjoyment she took from the simple game.

"Get a stick!" She told him, looking over the edge at the swift, bubbling creek. "We'll make them race."

"I'll find something," he answered. Matt's heart was beating faster now. He realised this was their moment, this was the time to ask her. 

Karen's back was turned. He pulled the white gold ring out of his pocket and kissed it for luck. Pinched it between thumb and forefinger and went down on one knee. Might as well do it properly.

"Matt, have you - "

Her expression was priceless. Karen's eyes widened to saucers as she took in his stance and the ring. Her jaw dropped. The stick she'd been breaking up fell from her hand.

"Marry me, Karen. I love you." The words were unscripted, unrehearsed, and came freely. Simply.

She dropped her gaze to the ring. "Where ..."

"It was my Grandma's."

Karen stepped forward, taken completely off guard by his sudden proposal. His enjoyment of her surprise was beginning to fade, however. He needed a yes. Matt looked up, his eyes fixed on hers, _willing_ her to recover. 

Her gaze shifted to his. Karen suddenly laughed. "You're asking me properly."

Matt grinned. "Yeah. I am."

"I didn't think you would."

"Oh ye of little faith. So how about it then? Will you marry me?"

She put her hand over her mouth and laughed. "Yes. Of course. Yes!"

Matt gave a laugh of his own, comprised entirely of relief, and reached for her hand. He took her by the wrist and gently eased the ring on to her finger. By luck or fate, it fit. Then he was on his feet, arms around Karen, pulling her to him. He kissed her deeply.

Heads pressed together, they regarded the ring on Karen's finger. Their hands turned around one another, entwining, exploring. "It's a perfect fit," he observed, turning his head slightly to kiss the corner of her mouth.

"It's beautiful. It's so, so beautiful."

"Say yes again," he prompted, running his fingers over hers. "I wanna hear you say it again."

"Then ask me again!" Karen laughed.

"Marry me?" He murmured against her mouth.

"Nup."

He gave a wounded cry and gathered her against him, lifting her off her feet and spinning until she shrieked. "Yes, yes, I meant yes!"

"Ah, I don't want you now!" He laughed as she beat at him, setting her back on her feet only when her blows started to hurt. "Marry me, Kaz."

She nodded contentedly, almost sleepily. "Yes," she whispered into their next, long, slow kiss.

When they passed Mr. Cribbins on their way home Matt introduced Karen as his fiancee. And it felt good. 


	19. Four Days Out

**June 1965**

"Thing is, most people aren't giving birth at home anymore," Catherine explained. "They're saying one day they're going to insist all births be done in a hospital."

"Is that in case things go wrong?"

"Mainly. They think it's cleaner, too. Can I've more of that tea? I'm not saying your place isn't clean, love, mind."

Karen was sitting at the small kitchen table with the midwife Dr. McGann recommended. She turned out to be a buoyant, outspoken, lively woman in her thirties - very far removed from the stiff, matronly stereotype Karen expected. Her name was Catherine and she already felt far more comfortable chatting to her than she had with her doctor. However, she was glad Matt was out. She wasn't sure she could stand the inevitable jokes about having a pair of gingers in his house.

She took the kettle off the hob and placed the small tea-strainer over Catherine's cup. She poured her another cup of steaming, fragrant tea.

"No. I don't want to do it here anyway. The whole building would hear me, I'd never be able to look them in the eye again."

"It's perfectly natural, Karen. Most women go through it, nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Even so. I'd never be able to look them in the eye again." She sat opposite her, pulling her gingham skirt close to her knees. "So how does this work, exactly?"

Catherine dipped a biscuit in her tea. "We'll set an appointment calendar today, and you come to the clinic for check-ups. If you've any trouble getting there, let me know, I'll pop over to see you - better that than you missing appointments. If you have trouble, or questions ... you give me a bell and we'll chat about it."

"I feel better seeing you than ..."

"Dr. McGann? Yeah. He's one of the good ones. When it's time to have your baby, he'll be about to help if anything goes amiss. And of course, I'll be there. Point of this is - you're not doing this alone. I'll be there with you the whole way."

Karen glanced down at her ring. "And Matt. He's good. He's so excited about it."

"When's the wedding?"

"Four days. Soon but, we thought ... before it's you know, obvious."

Catherine nodded, smiling. If she was passing judgement then Karen didn't sense it: she had probably seen all kinds of people in all kinds of situations. She'd have to be reserved to survive this profession. 

"He sounds very nice."

"Ugh no, he's an idiot." They laughed. Karen ran her finger thoughtfully around the rim of her teacup. "A good kind of idiot."

"How long have you been living here?" 

Karen looked up. "How can you tell we just moved in?"

Catherine shrugged one shoulder and grinned knowingly. "Super midwife powers. And ... and the fact that you haven't decorated yet."

"Is that super nice midwife code for 'you don't have anything yet'?" Karen smiled and leaned back, glancing around. "Only been here two weeks. We were lucky to get it at such short notice. We um ... it was unexpected..."

"You don't have to explain anything to me."

She was grateful for that. Everyone was far too polite when they found out they were getting married at so suddenly - they knew why at once. Perfectly polite, afraid to ask the questions they were so desperately curious about, they hedged around the edges of conversation to prise gossip. It was exhausting.

They made an appointment calendar. Catherine passed Karen a little notebook of dates and blank pages for extra details, and all their future meetings were planned. The panic that Karen had experienced since discovering her situation had finally begun to ease. Conversations with Matt's mother, the ring, and now pages of organised appointments put her world back into controlled perspective. 

"You're due somewhere between Christmas and New Year," Catherine observed, putting little initials at the top of the calendar boxes between those dates.

"KS?" 

Catherine cast her an amused glance. "Karen Smith?"

"Oh right." She paused, laughed. "That takes some, um, getting used to."

She let Catherine out a few minutes later, with a pencilled-in appointment in her little book for a few week's time. She couldn't say that she was excited about having the baby, not yet. Neither did she resent it ... but she felt very detached from the whole situation and not at all maternal. Perhaps she was still in shock. Everything had moved so fast. She leaned against the door and looked down at the sparkling engagement ring, which was probably worth more than their flat.

Matt had found it, and they had been lucky. It was unoccupied, which meant they could move in right away, and that was the nicest thing about it. She smiled a little as she recalled the first time he had brought her round. The only piece of furniture was an old umbrella stand. He threw his hat on to it, turned in a grand old circle with his arms outstretched.  "Chez Smith," he grinned.

It was a tiny place in Elephant and Castle, a neighbourhood Karen would not have been seen dead in a year ago. The flat was part of a small complex of six units over three floors on busy New Kent Road. Theirs occupied the entire top floor, a converted attic space of strange angles and deep window-frames. Neither of them could get to the side of a room without banging their heads. The door to their flat was actually on the floor below; once passing through it one ascended steep, straight stairs which opened into the living space. A small kitchen with an old cooker was set off to one side. A _curtain_ divided it from the living area, and there was no separated dining space. The bathroom was cramped and tiled in faded orange. Most of its space was taken up with a gigantic clawfoot bath - Karen could not understand how, or why, anyone would've lugged it up here. The flat offered two bedrooms. The smallest faced the laneway behind the house, while the other, big enough for a double bed and not a great deal more, overlooked the noisy street.

The design fascinated the architect in Matt but boggled Karen's mind - her first thought was how she would ever get a pram up three flights of narrow stairs. This had not seemed to enter Matt's mind. He was so excited that she still had not been able to tell him of this most serious oversight. It was too late now.

And at such short notice ... he'd done all right. Over the next week they moved in with their meagre belongings. They went out one day and ordered their furniture, which arrived in unreliable dribs and drabs - the mattress for their bed came three days before the springs and posts, and the table had come but the dining chairs were late. They had a small tv set Matt had bought cheap from Gareth and cushions to sit on - no sofa. Karen went from extremes of disappointment to amusement at their strange, domestic adventure. These came in predictable waves. When alone in the flat she hated it and herself and all the horrible things they possessed; but when Matt was present she was filled with the excitement of the freedom their new life represented.

She couldn't stand to be there alone. Karen rubbed her stomach and headed into the bedroom. All of her shoes were lined up beneath the window. She picked out her favourite yellow heels, bracing her hand against the wall as she tugged them on. It was Friday afternoon, and she had taken to spending all of these at the Twelve O'Clock. Matt would drop by when he finished work, then they could go home together.

_Go home together._ That novelty had still not worn off.

She took the three sets of dreaded stairs carefully and walked to the bus stop. It was a beautiful summer day, pale blue sky streaked with fluffy clouds. It was a pleasant ten minute wait for the bus that would take her over the Thames and into a part of London she was happier in.

Jenna was settling an account when she arrived, slipping into her favourite seat by the window. Her friend's hand flapped at her over the customer's shoulder.

"Arthur's down the back!"

"Arthur?"

Shrugging, she grabbed her bag and went deeper into the cafe. Karen rarely came back here, preferring to have her tea and cakes at the very front. She peered in each room as she went, at last finding Arthur in the far room filled with sofas.

Karen wondered if Mr. Capaldi would notice if she stuffed one in her bag and smuggled it home.

"Hi, you. Jenna said you were hiding back here."

"Yep." Arthur was reclining in one of the generous armchairs; she took a seat in the sofa opposite and kicked off her shoes. Arthur's cigarette was wedged right down between his fingers. His lips touched his palm as he took a long suck. "I would've popped round to yours but nobody seems to know where you live...?"

Karen rolled her eyes. "It's not fit for visitors yet. There's not even anywhere to sit. Some cushions on the floor, that's all. Our bedstead finally arrived yesterday. Apparently Matt's going to put it together on the weekend, but his dad warned me he was hopeless at it, so I might do it instead."

"You should've done it today. He won't let you now."

"I know. Wanted to, but I couldn't shift the bloody mattress out of the way."

"You know I don't really count as a visitor, right?" Arthur tapped ash into the ceramic bowl set before him. "I'm just Arthur."

"I know."

"I wouldn't care what it looks like, just would be nice to know where you two've shacked up."

"Can you not use that term?"

"What - 'shacked up?'"

"It sounds tacky."

Arthur snorted gently. "You hate the new place."

"I don't love it," Karen admitted, tucking her legs up against her side. "I'd like a chance to get to like it a bit before I start trying to convince guests that it's not the third level of hell."

"Ouch."

"Don't tell Matt."

"He doesn't know you hate it?"

"He's doing everything he can and working really hard. I don't want him stressing that I'm unhappy."

"Are you?"

Karen raised her eyebrows and glanced away. "Wow, this got heavy fast."

"Sorry."

"I'm not unhappy, Arthur. Life is just ... trying."

Arthur grinned. "I got you something." 

He reached down into a bag on the floor. Karen hadn't noticed it, but now that she was looking she saw it was a Hamleys bag. And from it, he took out one of the teddy bears she'd displayed and admired weeks ago.

She gave a happy, disbelieving little laugh. "Arthur! You remembered!"

He made it dance in the air and tossed it to her. "Of course. You don't hold on to a girl like Ines and not learn how to remember stuff like this."

Karen caught the bear in both hands and admired his lopsided little ears, breathed in his fur. "Oh Arthur. Oh this is so sweet."

"He's for your baby, not you."

"I know that! I'm gonna call him Arthur, though, then we'll never forget who gave him to us."

"Oh please don't call your bear Arthur."

"It's done. Arthur-bear. Oh I can't believe you remembered that. You're so sweet."

Karen hugged the bear to her. She glanced up as a flicker of movement caught her eye. Mr. Capaldi was standing in the doorway. "Hello, Mr. Capaldi!"

"You're supposed to be calling me Peter by now," he answered, coming to sit beside her. He blew smoke out the corner of his mouth and nodded to Arthur. "Hiya."

"Hey."

"Who's this?"

"Arthur-bear!"

"Oh shut up, it's not Arthur bear, call him Sooty or something, can't you?"

She gladly related the story of the bears and Arthur's good memory to Mr. Capaldi. Arthur feigned irritation, though Karen was pretty sure he was quite proud of himself. While she told it (and by association, a run-down of her week at work) Jenna came in with a tray of gin and tonics and round chocolate cakes.

"How long are you going to work for? Have you talked to your boss?" Mr. Capaldi asked.

Karen sat back, peeling the paper off her little cake. "I'm not telling them yet."

Mr. Capaldi glanced disbelievingly at Arthur who, having had this argument with Karen already, shrugged disdainfully.

"Karen."

"Mr. Ca - _Peter_ , they know I'm engaged. If they find out why they might think I'm... you know, and then they might worry that I'll make Hamleys disreputable, so I'm going to get married and _then_ tell them I'm pregnant. Oh, what a surprise, you know!"

She didn't like the way Mr. Capaldi was looking at her.

"And then you'll lie about the baby being premature, will you?"

"Something like that," Karen muttered, filling her mouth with cake. "What's the big deal! I'm going to lose my stupid job anyway. It might as well be when I want to lose it, not when they decide I'm a scarlet-bloody-woman and bad for business!"

That shut them both up.

"And anyway," Karen continued, "if they don't know, I could go back and work for them later."

"What about the - "

" _When it's old enough!_ "

Mr. Capaldi frowned at her. "Are you this pleasant when you discuss it with your lucky fiancee?"

"Oh, leave her alone!" Jenna snapped from the doorway. Three surprised faces turned toward her: they all thought she'd gone. "She's carrying a bloody baby, she can talk to anyone any way she likes!"

"Thanks, Jenna."

"You two've got no business telling her what she should or shouldn't do about her job, either. If she wants to work again when she can then good on her! Money'll be tight, good on her for wanting to contribute! My mum worked when I was little! I turned out all right. So just shut it!"

Mr. Capaldi leaned back, stuck somewhere between confusion and amusement. "All right, point made."

"Sorry Jenna," Arthur murmured.

They were saved from finding more apologies when the front bell jingled. Jenna shook her finger warningly at them and strode away. Silence prevailed for a few moments.

"So that Dr. Beeching bastard is still making a bloody mess of the railway," Arthur said, cheerfully changing the subject.

Arthur and Mr. Capaldi were soon in a heated, armchair revolutionary conversation about the railway cuts, of which Karen knew little about and had even less interest in. She fiddled with the Arthur-bear and sipped her drink until Matt arrived. 

He shook Mr. Capaldi's hand and nodded to Arthur. Then he laid his hands on Karen's shoulders, kissing her cheek. "Hello, love." 

"Good day?" She passed her drink to him and he finished it off in two gulps.

"Long day. Did you see Miss Tate? Hot out, isn't it?"

"Do you want a proper drink, Matt?" Mr. Capaldi offered.

He shook his head. His striped business shirt stuck to his body and he plucked it away, fanning cooler air against his body. "Thanks, no. That hit the spot. I'm dead tired, if I have another I'll go to sleep."

"D'you want to go?"

"Yeah, if you're done." He waved at the others as Karen put on her shoes. He nodded at Mr. Capaldi. "Have you...?"

She'd forgotten. "Oh! No, not yet. Peter," she said, remembering to call him by the name he preferred for the first time, "I've got a favour to ask. Would you - the wedding, the registry office on Tuesday ... would you give me away? I mean it's not a big deal, no ... but I'd like it if  - "

An expression passed Mr. Capaldi's face that she had never seen before. The tenderness took ten years off him. It was well known to all their friends that Karen's parents would not be coming, while Matt's were arriving Sunday evening.

"Of course I will, love. Of course."

Karen kissed his cheek. "Thank you. Okay. I ought to get this one home and fed."

Matt grinned and pulled her to her feet. "Sorry everyone. I'm shattered."

Matt really _was_. He'd been working extra hard. Going in earlier, staying a bit later, applying himself with greater interest. Karen worried that he would burn out in his effort to be noticed and promoted. He concerned about money, especially since he was taking three days off next week for the wedding. A honeymoon would have to come later.

She started on dinner once they were home. Matt turned on the telly and crashed on the mattress, watching it through the open doorway. By the time she came out with chops and mashed potato he was asleep.

Karen paused, a plate in either hand and the cutlery poking out of her skirt pocket. She smiled. He was lying on his side, face pushed into the pillow, arms and legs askew like a little boy tuckered out from too much play. She set his plate on the carpet and moved to the end of the mattress, where she knelt to unlace his shoes.

"Matt," she whispered as she worked them off his feet. She rubbed his calf. "Hey. Matt."

"Mmph."

"Your dinner's ready."

"Kay."

She took off his socks. "Come on, Matt."

"Yeah, kay."

"Have something to eat and then you can go back to sleep."

She kept shaking his leg until irritation roused him. He sat up, grumpy, hair ruffled. Matt wasn't properly awake. He put the plate on his lap and sleepily ate, silent until his meal was gone. He mopped up the last of his brown sauce with a couple of beans. His hand found her shoulder and gave it a comradely squeeze.

"Good food, Kaz. Ta."

"You're welcome." Her own dinner was long gone. She stacked the plates and took them into the kitchen but, unable to face the washing-up, moved the dirty dishes together and padded back to the bedroom.

She'd expected to find Matt asleep. He wasn't. Shirt was off and screwed up on the floor, the top button of his trousers unbuttoned, but he lay watching her. Karen stripped off her skirt and blouse and hung them in the second-hand cupboard they'd purchased a week earlier. 

"You look a bit rounder," he thoughtfully mused. "Around the middle."

Karen gave him a very wry look. "I'm not showing yet."

"No, not ... _showing_ , but you look a bit _rounder_."

Karen looked down at herself. She smoothed her hands over her breasts, hips and stomach. "Do I?" She had studied herself very critically over the past few weeks, determined to spot every change as they happened and adjust her wardrobe accordingly. "Already?"

"It's not noticeable. Come here. Kaz." His hand waved in midair.

"Let me put a nightie on."

"No, like you are."

Karen joined Matt on the bed. He put one arm around her shoulders while his other hand roamed over her stomach, feeling her. "So weird. That's our baby, y'know?"

It was quite nice, being touched like this. She was no stranger to his hands on her by now, but most of the time when he touched her bare skin it was with passionate intention. This was far more intimate, sensual. She watched Matt's hand stroking her stomach, then raised her eyes to his face. She could no longer doubt that he wanted this baby, though she was still not entirely convinced he wouldn't come to regret everything. His fascination with their baby gave her the hope she had not been able to find on her own. Nobody had ever looked at her the way he did - such love, adoration, respect. Sometimes, it almost frightened her.

"I think you're just a little bigger, yeah," Matt continued. "Can't wait for you to show."

"You'll tease me."

"A bit."

"A lot."

"Probably, yeah," he grinned and folded her under his arm, turning Karen over so they were both facing the television. His hand continued to wander her stomach. He went quiet for a little while. "I'll put up the bed tomorrow. Now now. Don't snort. I'll do a good job of it."

"Uh huh."

"Was thinking we could pick out a sofa tomorrow morning. Can at least choose the one we want, make a downpayment on it. Though ... though I quite like lying about like this watching telly."

"Lazybones."

He kissed her neck. "Four days, Kaz."

"I know. Nervous?"

"I dunno. A bit? Seems stupid ... you're already here, mine, and only a few people are going to be there..."

"I picked up our rings today."

"Did you?" His hand paused. "Where - where'd you put them?" 

"They're still in my handbag. Ow. Ow - Matt, ow - "

"Just a sec!"

He was reaching over for her bag, squishing Karen as he dug blindly inside of her handbag until his hand closed over a little box. Matt settled back once he had it, flipping it open with one hand. Two bands were inside.

"Huh. There they are."

The rings were part of the reason they hadn't any furniture. They'd taken quite a chunk out of their savings.

Matt snapped the box shut and gently tossed it into her bag. He went back to stroking her stomach.

"Kaz, Kaz, Kaz." Sigh. "I was thinking something bright for the sofa? And squashy, definitely squashy."

 

 

Just as David Smith had said, Matt proved useless with tools. Their mattress leaned up against the wall, blocking the window while he tried to figure out how the bedstead bolted together. Karen sat on the floor with her back against the cupboard. She was looking at cribs in catalogue books and trying to ignore Matt's cursing.

"It's buggered, Karen. Absolutely fucking stuffed. They sent us a dud."

"Okay."

The last few times she'd tried to help he'd just about taken her head off: she did not intend to spoil the rest of their Saturday by getting into a fight. She took a passive backseat to his manly busywork.

"I mean it just doesn't fucking fit together right. I've tried everything."

"Yeah, you've been at it three hours."

"Christ, have I? Oh fuck this. I'm starving anyway."

"I'll make you a sandwich?"

"Nah. Want chips," he said gruffly. Matt took the bedstead's reluctance to go together as a very personal affront. "Going to get chips. Early dinner okay with you?"

"If you like," Karen mildly replied, flipping a page. "Don't let them put too much vinegar on the chips."

"When I come back I'm packing this rubbish up and they can bloody well replace it."

"Okay."

"Fucking waste of time," he snapped, digging around in his pockets. He came up with enough change for the chips, and stomped downstairs.

Karen put the catalogue aside.

She crawled over to the bits and pieces, examining them. While Matt blundered about she'd had a pretty good chance to see how it was meant to go together, but he'd met all her suggestions with mild derision. Apparently he knew what he was doing. 

"Such a twat sometimes," she sighed, and started putting the bed together.

It was done by the time Matt came back with a steaming package of chips wrapped in newspaper. He gaped at the bed. She hadn't been able to put the mattress on, it was far too heavy for her, but everything else was finished.

"Ta da!"

He stared at it for a few seconds before finally remembering to close his mouth. "....I got chips."

"I put the bed together!"

"...told them to go easy on the vinegar," he muttered, going back into the living room and tearing open the paper. Karen grinned, though it would be a long time before Matt acknowledged who put the bed together. A very long time.

 

 

Sleeping on the floor had been fun. However, both of them were relieved to be back in a properly made bed that night. It was far more comfortable, and it gave them both the feeling that they had a real house. Dining chairs would come soon, and a sofa, and they wouldn't always be making do. 

Karen certainly went to sleep faster than she had of late. Nights seemed very long in their Elephant and Castle flat. The street was noisy; that took getting used to. Light from the outside cast strange shapes on the ceiling, given the angles of the attic walls. She would watch the shapes until she finally drifted off to sleep. Listen to Matt's breathing. Marvel at the fact that they were living together. _Living in sin!_ David liked to say, knowing it always made her laugh.

She was not even aware she'd been asleep until she suddenly jerked awake. She sat bolt upright, body protectively doubling over. It was sudden enough to rouse Matt.

"All right?" He muttered, turning to face her.

"Sharp pain," she answered, rubbing her stomach. 

Matt reached for her. "Is it going away?" His hand rubbed her upper arm.

"Yeah ... yeah, nearly gone. Stupid pregnant thing. Oh I'm really going to hate being pregnant, aren't I? Seven months to go..."

"You'd better not complain all the time or I'll chuck you out," he sleepily threatened, chuckling. "Come down here."

Karen lay beside him. Her hands continued to rub her stomach, soothing lingering cramps. "What do you think will happen first? The dining chairs arriving ... or the baby?"

"Probably the baby. What are you doing down there?"

"Rubbing. Tummy hurts."

Matt stroked her hair. "I'll get you a hot water bottle. Would you like that?"

She nodded. "That sounds nice."

"Right." He kissed her cheek. Karen watched his shadow stand, pull on a pair of trousers, and disappear into the rest of the dark flat. A yellow triangle of light splashed through the doorway when he flicked on the kitchen bulb. She listened to him filling the kettle as she turned on to her side, curling herself up into a little ball. Her mother always told her to tuck up like that when she felt sick. She felt a little warm, too, and kicked down the sheet a bit. That was summer's fault.

She giggled into her pillow despite the cramps. Why couldn't Matt have the baby - she'd proven more than capable of wearing the handyman trousers!


	20. St Thomas'

Matt returned with a hot water bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other. It was a good thing, he thought, that they hadn't managed to find themselves any proper furniture yet. He'd turned off the kitchen light on the way back and given they were still so new to the flat, he surely would've tripped on something. He was capable of tripping over his own feet without the help of furniture. 

He sat on Karen's side of the bed and gave her the hot water bottle. She pressed it to her stomach.

"Thanks."

"Do you want some water?" 

"Yeah, okay."

Matt put the glass in her hand. He touched her cheek and forehead while she drank. "Shit, you're hot Karen. Do you feel all right?"

"Bit of a headache," she confessed, passing back the glass. "And these cramps are awful ... just won't go away."

"Okay, okay," he murmured, trying not to worry. He lay on the bed, still in his trousers, and rested his hand on her hip. "We'll just ... is this supposed to happen?"

"I don't know. It's probably just ... a thing."

The phone hadn't been connected. It was on the to-do list but with long hours and everything else they had to buy and organise, it was yet to be checked off. He had thought there'd be time to sort this out before it was vital. He hoped he would not come to regret that tonight. It was late. When he went into the kitchen he saw it was two-thirty, but there was never a bad time to phone his mother for advice. There was a phone booth down the road ... 

"All right. Can I get you anything else?"

"No. No, just stay here."

The cramps didn't go away. And she was hot, so hot ... Matt got up only to fetch a damp washcloth to lay over her forehead. He mentioned going down to the phone booth a few times, but each time Karen dug her fingers into his arms and begged him to stay. The cramps had been going on for close to an hour, neither getting better nor worse. All she wanted him to do was talk to her - stories from school, from his childhood. Every time one ended she asked for another.

"Matt," she said in a strange tone, interrupting him for the first time, "turn on the light. I think I'm bleeding."

"Don't say that," he whispered, "you're not."

"Please turn the light on."

With the greatest reluctance, Matt pulled away from her. Once he was off the bed he moved quickly, slamming his hand against the switch. He held up his hand, shielding his gaze from the harsh, sudden light. And when he looked at Karen she was sitting up. Her nightdress was stained with dark blood and she was looking at it on her fingertips.

"Matt," she murmured, lips scarcely moving, "I think I've lost the baby."

He lurched forward. His mind was screaming in confusion and he didn't know what he was supposed to do, what was happening, what he was _meant_ to do now. Karen looked worse than ever: pale, clammy to the touch. He pushed her down by her shoulders. Heart hammering, nerves twisting his stomach into a sick mess, he lifted the hem of her nightie. Blood was smeared between her thighs, on the sheets. He could see thick, large clots. She was bleeding a lot.

" _Karen..._ "

She seized his wrist with surprising strength. She was shaking, struggling against the tears standing out in her eyes. "Stay-stay-stay!"

"Karen, I've gotta get help, I've gotta ..." he could barely believe what he was seeing. It was not registering as _possible._

"Please, if you leave, I'll die," Karen whispered. 

She couldn't have known that, and despite his sense of unreality, he did not believe it was true. But _she_ believed it, _she_ was terrified. He couldn't go. He would - he had to - but he couldn't, yet.

Karen was sobbing quietly. He pulled her into his arms, gently holding her face. He kept whispering to her, nonsense, repetitive circular nonsense, but he couldn't stop. "You're all right. I've got you. I love you. I love you. You're not dying. I've got you."

He lifted her nightie again. She was still bleeding heavily, one or two of the clots larger than the others. "Christ," he whispered, terrified and almost at the point of breaking down himself, "oh christ, Karen, I've gotta get help. I'm just going downstairs, okay? Just downstairs." Beat. "Karen."

But Karen wasn't really there anymore. She was sweating and nearly senseless, eyes half closed. Matt gave her a little shake, then a harder one. And before he even knew what was happening he was on his feet and running down the stairs. The phone booth was just too far away. He went instead to the flat below theirs. 

They'd met those neighbours, briefly. He couldn't remember their names, but they'd welcomed them to the building when they had first moved in. They had been under the impression he and Karen were already married: by unspoken agreement they did not correct them. Matt banged on their door now.

"Please. It's an emergency."

He banged some more. He saw smears of blood on his hand and stared at them for a long moment, distracted. Then, it reminded him of his purpose, and he started banging again. "It's Matt from upstairs, please, please, open - !"

The man opened the door in his pyjamas, rumpled and irritated. He stared in sleepy surprise at Matt.

"Please, Karen's upstairs - we think she's losing the baby, please, can you call an ambulance?"

He waited until he got a shocked nod and bolted back upstairs. Karen was exactly where he'd left her, bleeding and sweating into the sheets. Her hair was almost entirely soaked. He didn't know what else to do, so he wadded up the sheets and pressed them between her legs. He wet the cloth again and carried it, dripping, until he could press it against her forehead. 

Matt kept saying her name, but she never answered to it. He thought it had happened so quickly but realised it hadn't - how long had they been lying there before she started bleeding? An hour? God, too long, too long ... he should've told her to listen to him for once and let him call someone the moment she started cramping.

The minutes dragged on as though they were hours. He had no idea how long it took the ambulance to arrive. While they waited, the bleeding slowed. Her temperature, however, did not go down. He forgot that they had probably lost their baby; he was instead consumed with the fear he was losing her, that she was right after all and was dying.

Slow as the wait had been, it sped dramatically up once the ambulance staff arrived. They fired a lot of questions at Matt, who had just enough time to throw on a shirt and grab his wallet and keys. They could not bear Karen down those steep stairs in a stretcher (and Matt wondered how the hell he'd expected them to get a pram up and down there) so the taller man lifted her in his arms. They carried her to the waiting ambulance. Matt managed to throw his neighbour a quick thank you.

Matt barely remembered the ambulance ride. Later, all he recalled was how clammy her hand felt in his. They cut straight up St George's Road at breakneck speed.

He watched them take her away once they were in St. Thomas' Hospital. Matt couldn't even find the words to protest or ask what was happening - one moment she was there, the next she was gone, and he stood alone in the A&E foyer.

A hand gently squeezed his shoulder, causing him to jump. He turned and saw a nurse in a crisp, clean uniform standing beside him. She was holding a clipboard and looked very concerned. He wondered what she wanted, then found himself so grateful that someone had remembered him that he almost hugged her.

"I'm Nurse Aldred," said the brunette. She had a nice smile. "I've some paperwork we need filled out. I can help you do it?"

Matt glanced back at the door Karen had disappeared through. "Yeah. Course. Sure."

"Is there someone I can telephone for you?"

With everything happening there was no energy to spare for past disagreements. "Uh - her parents. Her parents. My sister."

He still had that little bit of paper with Karen's number on it. She'd written it down for him in his car a year ago, and it had remained wedged in there ever since. He dug it out with clumsy fingers and gave it to Nurse Aldred. She agreed to telephone Mr and Mrs Gillan, and he took a couple of coins to the public phone to call his sister.

By some miracle Laura, and not one of her housemates, picked up the phone. She didn't even sound that tired. Then again, he realised dully, it was Saturday night.

"Laura. Laura, I need you."

"Matt?" He registered the sudden alarm in her voice. "Matt, what is it?"

"I'm at St Thomas' hospital in Lambeth. I need you to come. It's Karen. She's um - can you come?"

There was a pause. When Laura spoke again the alarm was nearly gone, replaced with trembly determination. "I'm on my way. Sit tight, okay, I'm coming. I love you."

"Okay. Thanks. Yeah. Bye."

He sat down with Nurse Aldred and filled out the paperwork. It was mostly straightforward, though it asked some questions about Karen's history that he was unable to answer. 

"So you're not ... family," she delicately asked when recording his details.

"Not yet," he snapped, running his hands through his hair. He leaned forward to look at the doors again. "Can I see her?"

"The doctors will come out soon, then we'll see."

"Does this happen much?" Matt asked, agitated. He was finding it increasingly difficult to sit still. "Do you see this much?"

Nurse Aldred wet her lips. "Yes. Yes, this happens. But this is a good hospital. Just you stay calm for her. I can see you love her very much. Just stay calm for her."

"We're getting married on Tuesday."

"Just think about that," she said kindly, standing up. 

"Nurse?"

She turned.

"What's your name?"

"Sophie."

He nodded quickly and rubbed his jaw. "Thanks. Thanks, Sophie."

Laura and Karen's parents arrived at almost exactly the same time. They had never met, so they passed one another as they came through the doors. Laura shouted his name and ran, throwing her arms around him. He buried his face in her neck.

Laura was fully dressed in a loud pink and white checkerboard dress with big earrings. Her hair was teased. She hadn't been to bed yet, but he hadn't the energy to ask what she'd been doing. Further, she'd drawn attention to him, and Mr and Mrs Gillan had come closer.

"My sister, Laura," Matt managed to say, his arm still around her. "Karen and - Karen's parents. The Gillans."

"Where is Karen?" Marie asked, white-faced and haphazardly dressed.

"The doctors are - "

"What happened to her?" Raymond pressed.

"She woke up with bad cramps ... she was bleeding ... she was bleeding..."

Laura clutched him a little tighter. "Oh god, Matt. Are you okay?"

"No. No, I'm not."

"Did she lose the baby?" Asked Marie, her hands going to her mouth.

"I don't know. She was out of it when we got here. They took her away - they haven't come back yet."

Raymond turned abruptly and went to the nurses' station. Marie looked between him and Matt as though she was trying to think of something to say. In the end, she shook her head and hurried after her husband. Laura hugged Matt fiercely and led them over to a couple of seats against the wall to wait. There was nothing to say. Matt sat with his elbows on his knees, face in hands, with his sister's hand gently rubbing his back. After a little while, Karen's parents came back and sat opposite them. 

At last, they were joined by a mustached man in a white coat who introduced himself as Dr. Courtney. He shook the hands of Matt and Raymond.

"Karen's all right," he assured them. 

The breath left Matt's lungs. If it were not for Laura's hand steadying the small of his back he was sure he would've crumpled. 

"She's going to be just fine. She's sleeping now, and can have a few visitors in a little while. But I'm so sorry," Dr. Courtney looked at Matt, "I'm sorry, she's lost her baby."

Matt looked at Laura. He had known from the moment Karen started bleeding that this was what would happen - but there had been hope. Now there was none. He made a soft, strained noise at the back of his throat and held her hand tightly. He sniffed, forced himself to stay together. He was not going to go to pieces in front of Karen's fucking parents.

"But I've miscarried before," Marie said quietly. Matt shot her a quick glance - Karen didn't know that, he was sure Karen didn't know. She would've told him. "It wasn't like this. Why is it like this for my daughter?"

"It seems there was an infection," Dr. Courtney said gently, "this happens sometimes. The infection got into her bloodstream. But she's on antibiotics now. She seems to be responding well, I see no reason not to believe she'll not be herself again in a few days."

He turned his attention to Matt. "How did it start?"

"Um," Matt took a deep breath and Laura squeezed his fingers. "She woke up with a sharp pain. Then she had stomach cramps. I got her a hot water bottle and it helped for awhile ... when she realised she as bleeding she wouldn't let me go for help. We don't have the phone on yet. She was too frightened to let me go."

Raymond made a disgusted sound and appeared to be gearing up to blame him. Dr. Courtney, however, was quicker.

" _Please._ Mr Smith - had she been ill?"

"No."

"Morning sickness?"

"Yes. But that stopped a few days ago."

Dr. Courtney put his hand on Matt's shoulder. "I believe she lost the baby then. This is known to happen sometimes - the sickness stops because the fetus isn't growing anymore. Tonight was her body ... purging."

Marie made a strangled little cry.

"So did the infection cause her to miscarry or - or did the miscarriage give her the infection?" Laura asked.

"I'm not sure yet. I might not be able to tell, I'm sorry." He gave Matt's shoulder a squeeze and then released it. "Just sit tight for a little longer. You can visit her shortly." Dr. Courtney smiled and gave them all a nod, then disappeared back through the doors.

Marie was crying quietly. Laura coaxed Matt into sitting down again, comfortingly rubbing his shoulders. "You did the right thing, Matt. You heard what he said. It's not your fault. She didn't go through it alone."

"She was bleeding so much," Matt said his voice shaking. "Laura, she was so hot. She thought she was dying. When I tried to go for help she said, 'if you leave, I'll die.'"

"But she didn't. She didn't. She's okay. You heard what the doctor said. It happened days ago. You did the right thing."

"And now she's lost ... we've ..." the floor blurred as his eyes filled up with tears. He could barely comprehend this: he had only known Karen was pregnant for three weeks. Only three weeks; but he'd embraced it. He'd wanted it. For three weeks he'd felt like a father, like there was a greater purpose in his life. Karen had been scared, true, but she'd started to come round. They'd been _happy_. And in blood and pain the promise of a family was gone. Such a tiny thing, but it had been theirs - their baby.

"You must be relieved."

Matt looked up. Through the tears, he saw Raymond staring down at him, face impassive. Marie tugged at his jumper but he batted her hand away.

"There's no reason to marry her now. You're done. She can come home and this silly, messy business can be put behind her."

Matt couldn't even find the words. The man was cold beyond belief. He did not have the ability to cope with this right now - but Laura did.

She stood up. In a clipped, shaky voice she said, "how dare you. My brother is still going to marry her. When Karen was in trouble he opened his heart and took care of her. I know what _you_ said and did."

Raymond completely ignored her and continued to address Matt. "You might as well go now. I've already arranged her to be put in a private room - we're paying for it. There's really no need for this to continue."

Oh, that burned. Not only was Raymond insulting his honour, but he was supplanting him financially. He knew Matt could not have afforded a private room. He forced himself on his feet.  
"Is that what you'd do?"

"I'm not a bad person. I'm practical. You and my daughter are different, you know you are. This should never have happened. And tonight is - it's a terrible thing, but I think it's for the best."

"That was our baby," Matt breathed, too appalled to put any anger into his words.

"And you don't have any rights here," Raymond continued, "you're not married. We're her kin, we'll make the decisions. And I think it's best she finishes with all of this tonight and then comes home with us. You've both got a second chance here - take it."

Nurse Aldred came down the corridor. "I can take two of you in to see her now. I'm sorry - just two at a time."

Marie stepped forward, stuffing her hanky into her skirt pocket. She reached her hand out and took Matt's, firmly, glaring defiantly at her husband. Matt stared at her in shock.

"I'm taking Matthew to see her, Raymond."

"Marie - !"

" _Look_ at him, Raymond!" Her voice rang down the corridor. Even she seemed stunned by the force of it, and hushed her next words. "Look at him. How could she possibly do better than someone who loves her this much? Tonight is a tragedy, Raymond - not a second chance. Come on, Matthew."

She pulled him along. They followed Nurse Aldred, who motioned to them to be quiet, down new corridors.

"Mrs. Gillan..."

"Hush," she whispered back, staring resolutely ahead. "I am so embarrassed for my husband. I'm very sorry. He's very afraid for her, you see, she's our only child - I had three miscarriages and a stillbirth. We were lucky with Karen. I wasn't sure of you, I confess. But if you were just marrying her because of the baby you would've been relieved tonight. I was looking for that relief. I didn't see it."

"Mrs. Gillan, I - "

"Hush up. Don't say anything. I misjudged you, I'm sorry. Perhaps you can forgive me, perhaps not. But it's not time to talk about it now."

Karen was in room 211. The private room was small but a definite improvement to an open ward. She lay in an iron-framed bed with sheets pulled up to her chest. Her white arms lay over the sheet and an IV was going into one of them.

Marie went forward first. He watched her sit by Karen's side and take one of her hands into her own, warming them, blinking back her tears. Matt's feet didn't want to work. Seeing her lying there, so pale and still, frightened him. Karen looked very young and very small. Eventually, he went around to the other side. He kissed her forehead and sat in the hard chair next to the bed. 

"Did your sister mean what she said?" Marie asked after a long silence. "Are you still going to get married?"

"If Karen wants to."

Marie turned Karen's hands over. She looked at the white-gold engagement ring. "This is a lovely ring. She wasn't wearing this when you came to see us."

"It was my grandmother's. Mum gave it to me to give to Karen when we visited them that weekend."

Marie looked up and smiled a little. "You gave her your grandmother's ring? That's very romantic."

Matt didn't answer. He was gazing at Karen, feeling utterly defeated. Marie had inadvertently put doubt into his mind: what if this was Karen's out? Maybe she wouldn't want to get married after this ... at any rate, Tuesday was now out of the question. 

"Mrs. Gillan?" He looked across at her. "Would you mind giving us some privacy, just for a few minutes?"

She hesitated, then nodded. She pressed a kiss to her fingers and touched Karen's forehead. The door closed behind her.

Matt immediately scooted his chair closer. He took Karen's hand and brought her fingers to his lips. He breathed on them. Kissed each knuckle. Finally alone with her, Matt felt the horror and sadness welling up. He closed his eyes as a hard, painful lump formed in his throat. The first dry, aching sobs came as tears flowed over her limp hand.


	21. Subterranean Homesick Blues

Raymond Gillan's payment of a private room rankled Matt, who could not have afforded it on his salary. Yet, it had its advantages. The greatest was that rules could be broken for him, and he was permitted to stay with Karen where he would otherwise have been asked to go. He suspected that there was more at play than Raymond Gillan's money, however. Nurse Aldred had taken a liking to him, and she had promising news when she came to check Karen's vitals.

Matt watched as she consulted the little clock pinned to her breast while taking Karen's pulse. She gently laid her hand back down and made notes on the chart at the end of the bed.

"The matron says everyone has to leave now until visiting hours. They begin at ten. You're not going to go quietly though, are you?"

He slouched back in his seat, legs stretched right out. Mr and Mrs Gillan had been gone about half an hour, and Laura a little before, exhausted. She was going to phone their parents before they could depart Northampton. Laura believed they would come down anyway, but they had a right to know what they were coming into.

"I can't leave her, Sophie," Matt sighed, dispensing with the pleasantries.

"The night matron wants you gone, though. Her shift ends in forty minutes, and the day matron's my best friend's mum. If you stay quietly here, I'll tell the night matron you've left ... and I'm sure I can talk the day matron into letting you stay."

Matt gave her heartfelt thanks. And an hour later, an older woman who was unmistakably the new matron opened the door, gave Karen a cursory look, and nodded to Matt. He relaxed with his hand over his eyes and dozed.

The moment Karen stirred he woke, leaning forward and resting his hand against her forehead. He smiled down at her as she came round, bleary-eyed and confused.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he said. The relief of seeing her with her eyes open, looking alive, was intense. His heart thudded behind his ribs. Karen was all right. With him once more.

She smiled. Her gaze moved around the room and, as she remembered, the smile faltered. "I lost the baby."

He had been dreading this. Matt pressed his lips together, trying to find the right words. His silence was more than enough, however. "Yeah. We did, Kaz."

Karen was very pale, and there were heavy shadows underneath her eyes. She looked down at the IV going into her arm with a measure of confusion. "How. I was all right..."

Matt explained it to her, quietly and quickly, as though getting it out of the way would make it easier on them. Karen accepted it silently. She didn't cry, she didn't question it. When Dr. McGann came to see her fifteen minutes later, she was asleep again.

Her parents returned around lunchtime and sat with Karen while Matt went out. He had intended to go home and change his clothes, but he could not bear the thought of finding that blood-soaked bed waiting for him. He bought a sandwich and a cup of tea in the hospital lunchroom instead.

Laura was sitting outside Karen's room when he came back.

"Gosh, you look terrible. Go home, change."

"I can't. It - "

"Oh!" Her features softened as she realised. "I'll go round, Matt. Give me your latchkey. I'll fix everything."

"You don't want to do that. Laura, no."

"I do. I'm going to. Latchkey." 

Sighing, but grateful, Matt dug into his pocket and passed her the small latchkey. It disappeared into Laura's purse. "I'd be knotted without you."

Laura hung her handbag over one shoulder. "I telephoned Mum and Dad. They're still coming down. They want to help."

He didn't know what they planned on doing, but he was glad they would be close. Karen's mother had thrown him with her strange rebellion and acceptance ... but it was so like _Karen_ that he believed it was genuine. Unfortunately, her father remained as stoic as ever, and now refused to even look at Matt when they shared the hospital room. 

In the early afternoon, after Mr. and Mrs Gillan had gone, Karen received a visitor Matt did not expect. He had been dozing when he sensed someone in the doorway. He opened his eyes to see Mr Capaldi with a bouquet of daisies.

"Hello," he muttered, sitting up straighter.

"Don't get up," Peter said, waving the bent daisies at him. "Christ, you look worse than she does."

"I've had a long night," Matt replied, settling back down.

Peter placed the daisies on the bedside table. They were bound with a white ribbon, one loop of the bow undone. He remembered what Peter had said the first day they'd met: _That lassie's like a daughter to me._ Karen had asked him to stand in for her father at their wedding.

"I would've phoned," Matt said, though it had only occurred to him now that it should have been done, "didn't have your number. How - how'd you find out?"

"Grapevine," replied Peter, still looking down at Karen. "Laura told Jenna, and Jenna told me. How'd it happen?"

"Infection. That's what the doctors reckon anyway ... they reckon she lost it days ago."

"And you were with her?"

Matt nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"She'll be all right, though?"

"They think so. Said they want her in tonight, she can go home tomorrow, depending."

Peter walked over to the window. He cranked it open a little wider, glanced at the closed door, then pulled out a package of dried tobacco. He started rolling a cigarette on the sill. "This is shite," Peter said, his fingers nimble and busy, "absolute shite. She was just gettin' fuckin' used to it."

"Yeah, she was."

"She was still scared and all, but she was startin' to like the idea. You could tell. This is shite."

"Yeah, it is."

Peter tucked the filter in one end, rolled the paper tightly, and licked the edge to seal it. He held it toward Matt. He could fucking do with a smoke, too. Thankful, Matt nodded and took it, moving to the window. He turned the cigarette in his fingers as Peter rolled another. 

"You're neat with these."

"Yeah, well. Only been doing it thirty odd years. Better than that Embassy crap you smoke. Should start rolling your own."

"Might do."

Peter lit both their cigarettes. They stood by the window, tapping ash outside, blowing their smoke directly into the fresh air. It did, Matt had to admit, taste better than his Embassies. He wasn't sure he could be bothered, rolling his own all the time. Capaldi smoked a lot of reefer, though. Occupational necessity.

"Are _you_ all right?"

Matt glanced at the older man. He took his time with his answer, sucking back a lungful of smoke and slowly expelling it out the window. "Not yet."

"Yeah," Peter mused, "father gets forgotten a bit. No taking anything away from Karen but ... was yours, too."

"I only knew for what, three weeks? That's it, thats all I had. But I liked it, you know? I wanted ... I never for a second thought this could happen. I really didn't." 

Peter glanced around the room. "Her dad put her up in here?"

"Of course he did," Matt answered, flat and sour.

"You're not special, you know."

"Hey?"

"Her old man. Hates me too. Probably hates me more than you, if that's possible. Thinks I'm a bad influence - and you know, I likely am." He grinned. "In fact, I shouldn't stay long. If he sees me here it could get ugly."

"Oh, fuck him, stay as long as you like."

"Tend to agree with you. For her sake, though. You still getting married on Tuesday?"

"No. Still want to marry her, if she's keen, don't get me wrong. But not this soon. Not like this. When she's ... when we feel like it again."

He had to keep repeating that as the day wore on. It was Sunday, which meant none of their friends were working. With the best intentions they all visited, bringing flowers and well-wishing notes. Matt was amazed that Karen was able to sleep through it, even with the antibiotics coursing through her veins. He discovered that wasn't quite true. It was the tiniest movement that attracted his attention: a flicker of Karen's eyelids. 

He waited until Freema and her mum had left and counted to ten.

"They're gone."

Karen took a deep breath and opened her eyes. "How did you know?"

"I know you," Matt smiled, choosing to pretend he'd known all along rather than having figured it out only seconds ago. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. How do _you_ feel?"

"Tired."

Karen pushed back her hair. Lowering her hand again seemed like too much effort - she left her fingers tangled amongst the strands. "I'm sorry I left you to them."

"They're our mates, Kaz."

"I know," she answered quietly. "I love them. I do. I just couldn't bear to see it in their faces. The ... pity."

His girl and her bloody pride.

"It wasn't like that. They just wanted to show they cared."

"Yeah, I know that. And I wanna see them later. Just not now. Can I go home today?"

"Dr. McGann will be back in the morning, he said he'd have a look at you then."

"So I have to stay here tonight?"

"'Fraid so." Matt leaned forward. He traced the outline of the tape holding the IV going into her hand. "And I can't ... stay with you tonight. The night matron, she won't have it, I'm told."

"I'll be fine," Karen promised, "you need sleep. You look dreadful. Have you been here all this time?"

He managed a nod, suddenly feeling an upsurge of emotion. "I couldn't leave you."

"Have my parents been?"

"Yeah. They came early ... then back again awhile later ... "

A nurse wheeled a trolley into the room. Methodically, she checked Karen's vitals and made notes in the chart. Then, she swung a dinner trolley across the bed and took a tray from the one she'd wheeled in. Karen had slept through lunch, but she was now offered a sandwich and a plate of biscuits. With a shy smile to Matt, she placed two cups of tea on the dinner trolley.

"Oh, you don't have to - thanks," Matt sat up when he realised one was for him.

"Nurse Aldred left notes," she explained, then turned her attention to Karen. "Make sure you eat up all that sandwich. You have to eat if you want to go home." She helped Karen sit, and left.

Matt realised Karen was smirking at him. "What?"

"You. Sitting by my side for hours. I bet all the nurses fancy you, think you're lovely and sweet."

"I am lovely and sweet," he replied, helping himself to an oat biscuit and dipping it in the tea. He took a hungry mouthful. "Eat up."

Karen picked at the sandwich. She didn't seem to have much of an appetite, but she desperately wanted to go home, so made a valiant effort and finished nearly all of it. "Ham tastes funny."

"It's just different, that's all. I'm sure it's fine."

"Tastes funny."

Silence fell between them.

Very cautiously, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Karen stirred her tea. "When we go home? Is that okay?"

"Course. Yeah. Whenever you like."

Visiting hours were coming to a close when Matt's parents finally arrived. Karen didn't pretend to sleep through their visit. Lynne was almost in tears the entire time, and a stilted conversation was had about their journey down and the new bedroom Aunty Rosie had put them up in. And when it was time for them to leave it was, regrettably, time for Matt to go, too.

His parents went on ahead. He knew they were going to ask him to go with them to Aunty Rosie's, but he couldn't bear that. He needed some time to himself, away from concerned eyes. He understood Karen's aversion to pity - he'd had been under the microscope enough. He just wanted to go to bed and sleep and stop pretending everything was all right.

"I'll be back first thing, as soon as visiting hours are on. Ten on the nose," he promised her, leaning over the bed. "I promise. Just get some sleep and it'll be morning before you know it."

"Can you please just go?"

He pulled back from kissing her forehead. Her abrupt tone surprised him, began to offend him - and then it clicked. She didn't want him to leave, she was barely holding it together. Her fingers squeezed the top sheet. And Karen knew if she went to bits, he wouldn't be able to go.

Matt dropped a kiss on her forehead and went without another word. As he walked away from the room he knew - he _knew_ \- she was finally crying the tears she had withheld all day. Her pride stood between even them.

And he understood.

 

 

It was a bad night. Karen couldn't sleep in the hospital bed, or at least she could not sleep continuously. Every pair of feet passing the door woke her, every closing door, every cough. She hated lying awake and thinking, and hated even more falling asleep only to wake to the same temporary disorientation until she remembered where she was.

The hospital smelled too clean. The mattress was too high and thin, and the smock they put her in was alien against her skin. Nurses has, blessedly, taken the IV out and now her hand ached as though it were lonely for it. She turned on her side and scrunched herself up. She missed Matt. She wanted her mother.

Breakfast was served at seven. She stared groggily at fried eggs and, mirthlessly, used her knife and fork to move the bacon around to make a mouth, the beans to form hair, and the stubby sausage to make a nose. 

"Happy face," she muttered and forced herself to eat everything except for the beans, which were cold. 

A nurse allowed her to bathe and she was able to wash her greasy hair. It was the first time since she was little that she had gone out without her hair done. She sat up in bed and fiddled with the ends, hunting for split ends, snapping them when found.

Dr. McGann arrived before visiting hours commenced. He gave her a full examination and consulted the chart the nurses had so dutifully filled in over the last twenty-four hours. 

"Is it all gone?" Karen asked, tensely holding herself up in bed. "Did it all ... happen?"

He nodded kindly, pressing the cold disc of a stethoscope against her breast. "It's all gone. You may have some light spotting over the next few days, but that's normal. And all your signs are good. You'll need to finish the course of antibiotics, and you can do that at home. If your temperature rises, if you feel ill, you must come back immediately. The infection's under control but you need to see it through properly."

"I can go home today?" Her voice lifted hopefully.

"I think people heal better at home," Dr McGann smiled. He listened to her heartbeat. Then, he tapped her shoulder to lean forward and put the disc against her back. "Deep breaths, Miss Gillan." He listened again, then tapped her shoulder to indicate she could again sit back. "Good."

"When can I go?"

He laid the stethoscope around his neck and picked up the chart. "When your family comes for you. Just enough time to let your breakfast settle. You ate almost everything, there's a good girl."

"Why did it happen?" She suddenly asked. She hadn't meant to - the words flew from the tip of her tongue. "Dr. McGann ... I was so afraid. I didn't want to have a baby. Did I do this?"

The doctor slowly lowered his chart. "No. These things happen, sometimes. Nature or God make funny choices that we'll never understand. When you're ready, you can try again. I see no reason why you couldn't have a perfectly healthy baby." He went back to his chart and made a few notes.

Mildly comforted, Karen looked down at the ring on her finger. If she had been asked, days ago, if she would've been happy not to be pregnant, she would have said yes. It was complicated, because in the same breath if she were asked if she wanted to lose the baby she would've said no. Neither she nor Matt were ready to be parents, but she hadn't wanted the baby to die. She was left with the emptiest feeling. Lonely regret. 

Her parents and Matt arrived shortly after ten.

"I was here on time," Matt said. He was carrying a small carpet bag. "Like I said! Your doc wanted to talk to us outside. Says you can go home. Good thing I brought you some clothes, hey?"

She looked suspiciously at the bag. Matt was generally pretty good with putting his own outfits together; she wondered if he'd matched shoes to dresses in a way that would stand up to her stern fashion critique. 

Her mother and father kissed her. Karen was surprised and moved to see her Dad actually looked affected, tender toward her. 

"You gave us a terrible scare," he said, tugging a lock of her hair the way he used to do when she was small.  "So relieved you're all right, love."

"You two, out of here," her Mum made motions toward the door. "Men out. I'm going to help Karen get dressed."

Matt left the carpet bag on the bedside table and kissed her forehead. When the men had gone, Marie unpacked the bag and shook out the clothes. Karen was impressed - Matt had chosen well. Surprisingly well, actually. She'd never worn that cardigan with that dress, but it was an excellent match. Marie helped her dress and brushed her hair.

"In a few days we'll have a big chat, you and me," Marie promised. "There's a few things ... should've told you long ago, never did ... we'll have a good chat."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll chat in a few days." Pause. "He's nice, your Matt. You should've seen him, love. Almost sick with worry he was. He had us phoned right away too, the moment you were here."

"I _told_ you about him."

"Yes ... you did. I know. Your father though ... I had a quick little talk with Matt outside. I'm going to come by once a day for the next week, get your dinner ready and things."

"Mum, I don't need - "

"Yes, you do need. You're not going to be much good for anything over the next few days. I doubt he can cook. And then he's back to work on Thursday. No, I'll come by and cook supper, make sure you're both getting a good meal in."

"And you said this to Matt? It was okay?"

"He said it was."

Karen went quiet, her head tugged back and forth slightly as her mother pulled the brush through her hair. She realised she was no more ready for her mother to see their house than she was for a baby. They didn't have all their furniture and the place desperately needed a good dust and sweep. She was embarrassed by the flat Matt had chosen.

By the time she was dressed Matt's parents had arrived. Everybody met in the bedroom, Karen uncomfortably aware this was the first time the soon-to-be inlaws had encountered one another. The two sets of parents had nothing to say. Karen thought her father _had_ to know that his attitude toward Matt had been relayed to his family. Perhaps he was ashamed. Lynne and David's behaviour was cooler than Karen had ever seen it; it made her impossibly sad, though she understood. Marie, however, made a solid effort.

"It's nice to meet you at last. You stay down here with family, do you?"

David nodded, so Matt offered a proper answer. "Yes, they stay with my Aunty Rosie."

"Oh, is that uh, Mrs ... Smith's sister?"

Silence, so again, Matt answered. "Er no, Dad's. Mum's family's in Northampton too."

And that was how the conversation laboured on until it was so excruciatingly uncomfortable that Karen suggested they go. 

"I'll come with you," Lynne suggested. "I'd like to see where you live, and I can get supper on."

Oh, _awkward._

"Actually, Mum," Matt said as Karen pretended to adjust the buttons on her cardigan, "Mrs Gillan's coming round to do just that."

"Oh. I won't bother then."

"No, no - I meant you should both come."

Marie quickly spoke up. "Yes, please come. I've not ... not seen their flat either. We could go together."

This was clearly not what Lynne wanted, but she could not refuse without seeming impolite. So she gave a stilted little nod. "Yes. That would be ... fine."

"Tell you what," Matt said, again breaking a close silence, "Let me get Karen on home first. Give us a chance to tidy up a bit ... then you could come back later, afternoon tea?"  

Nobody was going to argue with him. He'd politely phrased it as a question, but there was no doubt that he did not intend this to be a negotiation. He was telling them to come later and given the situation at hand, neither of their sets of parents raised a word against the plan. They said their goodbyes and he checked Karen out. 

"Laura came round ... cleaned everything up," Matt explained as they entered their building. He looked up at the first flight of stairs and sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking. Look at these. How would you have gotten a pram up and down?" Beat. "Do you - "

"I want to walk." 

It took awhile. Three slow and steady flights of stairs. Pride had Karen determined to make it on her own. By the time they reached the top and entered their flat she was exhausted. 

"Need to ... need to tidy up before our Mums get here ..."

"I can do that. Come on, let's get you to bed."

"I don't want to," she whined, "I just got out of bed."

"I don't have a sofa to put you on," he answered shortly, "so it's bed."

Karen sat on the edge and leaned forward, carefully removing her shoes and dropping them to the carpet. She watched Matt squat by the record player on the floor and sift through a pile of records. They had only lived together a few short weeks, but their vinyls were already mixed up. It felt more domestic than their jumbled laundry. Karen lay on her side as the record player crackled to life. He'd put on Dylan's _Bringing It All Back Home._

She could hear Matt singing softly under his breath as he moved around the bedroom, taking off his shoes and doing god knew what else, since her back was to him.

" _Johnny's in the basement mixing up the medicine, I'm on the pavement thinking about the government. The man in the trench coat, badge off, laid off, says he's got a bad cough wants to get it paid off."_ He crashed on the bed beside her, bouncing on the mattress springs. He tapped her nose and sang directly to her. " _Look out kid, it's somethin' you did, god knows when but you're doing it again, you better duck down the alley way looking for a new friend_ -" laugh "- that's all I know."

"That's good," Karen answered, giggling. "Can't believe you know so many words."

"Love Dylan," he said, "best album of his to date, without a bloody doubt."

Karen sighed and stroked her hand down his arm. "How're you?"

"Still tired. How'd you sleep?"

"Not great." Karen moistened her lips. "I'm sorry."

"Don't," he said right on top of her words.

"Please just let me say I'm sorry."

"No. I'm not having it. It's not your fault."

"Isn't it. Come on, Matt, we both know how I felt."

"Yeah, I do," he said firmly, "and I know you were getting used to everything. Don't you try and make me blame you. Cos I don't."

"Matt..."

"What are you even trying to do?" He asked, puzzled. "Are you trying to convince me you did it on purpose, trying to chase me off so I don't feel like I have to marry you anymore?"

Well ... actually ... Karen hadn't been thinking that at all, but on some _subconscious_ level ... that rang true. "I ... no ..."

He sighed at her, shaking his head as though she were the most impossible woman ever to have lived. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back. "I cancelled Tuesday."

"Good."

"I still want to marry you."

Karen squeezed his hand. "Yeah. Me too. Maybe we could ... what do you think of getting married next year, instead? I'd sort of like a proper wedding, you know."

Matt grinned at her. "You just want to wear a posh frock."

"Bit, yeah. But what do you think?"

"I think ... I think May next year would be perfect. Is eleven months long enough to get the right frock?"

"Hmm, if I hurry," she smiled. 

Suddenly, holding his hand wasn't enough. Karen pulled him close, almost aggressively, wrapping him up in her arms. Matt's head was a comforting weight on her shoulder. She worked her fingers into his thick, silky hair, turning it in circles. She heard him take a shaky breath. From this angle, Karen couldn't see his face. From the way he breathed, however, she was pretty sure she knew what was going on.

She whispered to him. "I'm so glad you were with me. I hate that I lost the baby, that I took this from you - but Dr. McGann said I can try again someday - "

"You didn't take anything - " he started in a soft, strained whisper.

"Just shut up, okay? I know it's not my fault ... but ..." she closed her eyes for a few seconds. It _wasn't_ her fault, she logically knew that ... yet the guilt clung to her bones. "I'm just trying to say ... I don't know what I'm trying to say."

"Karen - "

"Just let me say it!" She snapped, harsher than she intended. Karen took a breath and sighed, resuming the gentle stroking of his hair. "Sorry. I'll ... I will never forget that you were there with me. For the rest of my life, no matter what happens with us ... I won't forget. God, that doesn't sound like enough .... I just need you to know that. And I love you."

"I was terrified I was gonna lose you," Matt confessed in a mumble. "I'd never been so scared."

"I'd never go anywhere without you."

Matt suddenly raised his head, lips finding hers. They kissed fiercely, deeply, hands raking through the other's hair and cradling jaws. It went on until they were breathless. 

"Maybe in a couple of years we could try again," Matt suggested, his gaze alternating between her lips and eyes. "It'd be different next time."

Karen drifted off into a comforted, deep sleep not long after that. Matt took a little sleep with her, rising quietly before their mothers were due to arrive to straighten up a few things in the flat. Karen woke alone in the mid-afternoon. The record had long since finished and she could hear voices in the kitchen. She frowned, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She recognised them right away - it was Lynne and her mother - but they were _laughing_ together, and that was weird enough to have her doubt reality. 

It didn't matter. Karen rolled over and easily went back to sleep. When she stirred again hours later, Matt's body was lined up against hers. His arm was loosely over her waist and his breath warm and even upon her neck. Karen relaxed into him and surrendered herself to more beautiful, peaceful sleep.


	22. Christmas

**December, 1965**

"Karen!" Matt climbed the stairs in ungainly leaps, taking them two at a time. He looked around the living area. It was now more or less complete: sofa offset with beanbags around a black and white telly, a big, patterned rug brightening the room and the dining table cluttered with their pieces of their life. He could see scissors and scraps of paper: it looked as though Karen had been wrapping gifts. Annoyingly, there was no sign of her.

"Karen!"

He removed his messenger bag and tossed it on the sofa. Matt glanced at the Christmas tree wedged into the corner, its tip bending beneath the angled ceiling. It was jazzed up with colourful, glossy baubles and dangling, silver tinsel. Matt shrugged off his coat and unwound his scarf, heaping those on the sofa too, and moved closer to the tree. The star was pressed vertically against the roof, perhaps they could pull it out ... a couple of feet ought to do it ...

"What're you shouting about?" Karen came out of the kitchen, taking off a blue-checked apron. "You can't just come home and shout for me, you know. Next you'll be plonked on the sofa expecting me to take off your shoes and rub your bloody feet."

Matt turned around. "Are you making a curry?"

"Might be." Pause. "Why?"

"You're always grumpy when you make curry."

"Oh shut up. And hang up your coat! It's damp! Getting it all over the sofa!" She picked it up and wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, smells like a wet dog."

"It's wool."

"Smells like wet dog."

He grinned at her. Karen's grumpiness wasn't going to last tonight, he was certain of that. Not when she heard what he had to say. "I've got good news."

"Okay good, hang this up?" She thrust it at him.

"But I've got really good news," he persisted, still grinning like a lunatic.

She was unmoved. "I'm just not interested until you hang up your coat."

Matt rolled his eyes and made a face at her. He snatched the garment and practically stomped to the coat stand, sloppily hanging it up. Turning, he spread his arms wide. "Are you interested now?"

"Yes, okay," she answered. 

He could already see her bad mood evaporating - Karen was smirking in spite of herself. They brought out the best in one another. Boundless enthusiasm and a sense of adventure when faced with the most boring of circumstances. Optimism when money was tight or situations bleak - they took turns being the strong one, and as such they were rarely down at the same time, or remained that way for long. And when one was excited about something it was inevitable it rubbed off on the other. Over time - especially since June - they had become two halves of one whole.

He grinned at her. "No, you were a bitch. I'm not telling you now."

"Oh come on!"

"Nope." He waltzed back into the room and flopped on the sofa. He pointed down. "If you take off me shoes and rub me feet I might reconsider."

Karen balled up her apron and threw it at him. "Ugh you're such a twat!"

Matt sprang to his feet, catching her by the hand as she started back to the kitchen. He spun her around. His arm slipped around her waist and they began a slow, shuffling dance. "Got called into Mr Baker's office today."

"Had you been bad?"

"I'm only bad for you."

"So sweet. So what did he want?"

"I'm getting promoted."

Karen stopped dancing. "You're - to - ?"

"Senior Architect," he could barely contain his excitement. " _Senior,_ Karen - "

He got no further. She was shrieking in delight and covering his face with kisses. He managed to claim a few with his lips, but both of them were far too excited for any patience. Karen knew what it meant to him. Better projects, a challenging career. A step higher on the corporate rung. More money. 

"So proud of you," she managed between kisses, "so proud. Finally. Noticed you. So proud."

Matt groaned against her mouth and squeezed her behind. Almost without conscious thought, he started tugging up her dress. "Gonna design a house for you one day."

"Are you?" Her fingers were unbuttoning his waistcoat. She moaned as he kissed her again, his tongue stroking hers.

"Uh huh. Yeah. Big house. Big ... oh Karen, god, gonna have you right here on the fuckin' floor ... when I'm runnin' the company ..."

She gave a little, delighted yelp as he stuffed his hand inside her slip. His fingers pressed between her legs, stroking eagerly. "You're going to be the boss one day. I know it." Her hand wrapped around his tie.

"Yeah. Then I'm hiring you as my secretary."

"What - oh that's, Matt, good - don't think you'll ... you'll have me typing ..."

"Y'will. Naked. In my office. Everything naked."

That got them giggling, breaking the spell to remind them they needed a condom - Karen dug one out of the inner pocket of her handbag on the table. They dropped to the floor in front of the Christmas tree. Karen sat astride one of his legs. She was flushed, dress partially undone, slip askew. The packet was lightly clamped between her teeth. Matt panted as she unzipped him, eyes fixed on her fingers. He gave a loud, harsh groan as she stroked him through his boxers, wiggling to help her tug down his trousers and underwear. 

"Good at this now," he breathed, watching her opening the packet. He whimpered as she rolled the latex down his length. "Aren't you. Put this on your resume. When you apply. For the job as my secretary."

She hesitated. "You'd make me _apply_? You ratbag!"

"Gotta make sure you're up for it, Kaz."

"Me?" She leaned over him, tucking hair behind her ears. Her nose gently nuzzled his, tempting him with kisses that he could not quite capture. She grinned at his frustration. "Maybe _you_ won't be. I'll wear you out. You'll ever get any work done."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yeah, that just happens to be so."

He flipped her over to her back. Matt knelt between her legs, her thighs pinned around his hips. Matt shucked out of the waistcoat and pulled his loosened tie over his head. He began rolling up his shirt sleeves. "We'll just see about that."

"I like when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Roll up your sleeves. Get all serious about fucking me."

He grinned. "I'm always serious about fucking you."

His hands reached beneath her hiked-up dress for the slip. He tried to yank it down, but it wouldn't budge.

Karen yelped. "Unbutton it first!"

"I thought it just came down!"

"That's the other one!"

"How many do you have?!"

"Three!"

"And this one's got bloody buttons?!"

"It's always had bloody buttons, now _wait_ , I don't want you tearing this!"

He watched as she arched her back to get to the buttons. When it had been undone, he tugged it down. This time the material came willingly. "These are old-fashioned anyway. Why do you bother?"

Karen stuck her tongue out at him and began wiggling. He realised she was taking off her knickers and helped her, relishing the way her long legs curled up to let them go. He growled in approval and hoisted her thighs over either side of his lap. Briefly, he considered getting her fully out of her dress, but that would use up time he wanted to spend on other things. She was eying up his cock, erect and straining, throbbing in almost painful anticipation.

"Like what you see?"

"I'd better like what I could feel - get on with it?"

"You are such," he lined himself up, "a _brat_ ," he finished on a groan as he thrust himself inside her. 

He was rewarded with a delightful shout from his fiancee. Karen's arms were over her head, fingers threaded into the carpet fibres. Matt used her hip and knee as leverage to push into her. The image of Karen's body spread out before him, sliding on the floor as she took every new thrust, was almost enough to make him forget what they were celebrating. 

"D'you like that?" He breathed, changing from a slow, hard pace to a rougher, more erratic tempo.

Karen nodded. Then she clearly remembered he liked to _hear_ it, and quickly added, "Yes! Yes."

He slowed again, loving the sound of his skin smacking into hers, the little cries exacted as payment for each thrust. Having her at this angle meant he could take her deep, teetering on that fine line of pleasure/pain. Matt hoisted her legs and she squeezed them, and his cock within her, responsively. He groaned and bent to kiss her leg. Teeth grazed her skin as his hips continued their relentless motion. 

He began rotating his pelvis in grinding, circular patterns. That got an interesting response out of her - Karen gave a savage cry. She turned her own hips, finding a match for the new rhythm. 

"That's - that's - "

Matt laughed breathlessly at her inability to articulate. It stopped as he saw her licking her middle and index fingers, sucking them hard. For a few seconds he lost control, hips bucking into her, fascinated. Then it was her turn to laugh. She moved wet fingers between her legs. Moaned.

He regained some control. Matt resumed the circular grinding, punctuating it now and then with a few quick thrusts. It was lasting far longer than he would've thought when they started - he'd been in it for a quick fuck and then finishing Karen off with his fingers. She moved up on one forearm to better reach herself, head tipped back, throat exposed, hair tumbling over her shoulders. He knew those sounds, that ragged rise and fall of her chest.

"Don't stop, don't stop," she whimpered. 

He was right - she was close. He kept it up, accelerating the pace a little to help her along. And then she was climaxing, all rough cries rising higher and lighter until she peaked. It stroked Matt's ego, bringing her to orgasm, listening to those beautiful sounds and seeing that flush in her skin, the glazed, starry look of satisfaction in her eyes when she was done and oh fuck, there was nothing better, except his own immediately after...

"Over," he managed to say, manhandling her willing body on to her hands and knees. She could barely hold herself up but he didn't care - he could do most of that for her, and it wouldn't be for long. He smacked her behind with his open palm as he rammed back into her, setting a furious, relentless pace. To his astonishment Karen's body contracted and bucked - she came _again_. That was too much for both of them. She collapsed under his weight and he pressed the length of his body against hers, burying his face in her neck and hair. His hips pounded furiously, one of his arms hugging her to him. Matt came, shouts muffled in her damp neck. He thrusted lazily into her until he was spent, heart thudding against her back.

Eventually, he remembered Karen needed to breathe and rolled off her. He lay staring at the angular ceiling like a broken doll, trying to catch his breath and rediscover his wits. Karen also turned over but went the other way, freeing up his arm. He felt around on the floor for her hand and clasped it.

"Christ, christ, christ," he panted. "You all right?"

"Oh yeah."

He turned his head to her. Karen was disheveled and deliriously happy, beaming at him. He giggled breathlessly. "Happy?"

"Mm. Mm-hm. Is that what I can expect from Senior Architects?"

"No. Just this one."

Karen laughed and dragged her hair off her face. "Can we go again?"

 

 

With the flat now furnished almost the way she wanted it, Karen was no longer afraid to host guests. Over time, her embarrassment concerning the poky flat evaporated. It had become home. Now that they were not expecting a baby there was more money to go round. She was able to buy interesting, pretty things with which to decorate, hiding all that was plain and ugly. At long last she began to see what Matt had when he took out the lease.

It had its drawbacks. There never seemed to be enough hot water. To wash the dishes in the evening Karen had to boil water on the stove, and keep her showers brief in the mornings. One of the windows rattled in a moderate wind and had to be stuffed with wads of newspaper in exactly the right places in order to stop it. The bathroom tap liked to leak. Matt always claimed to have fixed it, but the following day it would leak again. Karen loaned a book from the library to learn how to fix it herself.

On the twenty-second, they invited their closest friends over for Christmas dinner. They could not all come together on Christmas Day or Christmas Eve, as they were split in different directions with families of their own. To keep it affordable, everybody brought a dish or dessert. The table wasn't large enough to seat all the guests. It was set up as a buffet, and a circle of cushions and beanbags were arranged around the Christmas tree instead.

They numbered ten. Matt and Karen; Arthur and Ines, David, Freema and Gareth (Priscilla now firmly an ex), Jenna and Richard (and everyone knew it was only days until he proposed) and Noel, Matt's old friend from the bedsit. Mr. Capaldi and his daughter had been invited but cancelled at the last minute, returning to Glasgow earlier than planned. The flat felt very small.

"We need a game!" Freema announced. She stretched her legs into the centre of the circle and tapped her toes together. 

Everyone was fairly drunk. Jovial. In fine Christmas spirits. Music was playing, nuts and crisps were leaving bowls as soon as they could be filled. It was the perfect time for a game.

"I brought a game," Ines grinned in a way that made Karen suspicious. "Twister."

Voices rose in both protest and support. Gareth's was loudest. "There's too many of us for Twister!"

"No! No! We play in teams! Hear me out!" Ines cried, flapping her hands to command attention. She almost took the beer out of Arthur's hand, causing a fresh ripple of laughter that she had to shush. "Okay. You team up, so only five play at once, okay. Then next round the other five play, and the two winners face off in _the ultimate match-up._ "

There was more applause than groans, so Ines' idea of Twister was passed. She and Jenna began unfolding the plastic tarp in the centre of the circle while Gareth made excuses as to why he couldn't play: in the end, peer pressure won. The three couples were obvious teams. David joined forces with Freema and Gareth with Noel. 

The first five were Noel, David, Jenna, Arthur and Karen. With so many arms and legs it didn't take long to become a great tangle of giggling bodies.

"Jenna, left foot green," Freema called, "no! _Left_ foot!"

"I can't move my bloody left foot!" Jenna cried, her head was beneath Noel's arm, arms staggered wide. "I literally can't!"

"You have to!" David answered in a strangled voice from somewhere beneath Karen. "Jenna, bloody move, I can't stay like this!"

Jenna wavered. "I can't!"

"If she knocks me down am I out too?" Noel asked, craning his head to see Freema. 

"I'm not as tall as you lot!" Jenna cried. Wobbling, she tried to lift her foot.

"Come on Jenna Lou, come on ..." Richard encouraged, he flopped back in his beanbag, chuckling. "She's gonna go down," he stage-whispered to Matt.

Jenna went down. Noel managed to stay upright, even when Jenna rolled, drunk and giggling, off the mat. The next to fall was David (who couldn't transfer a right hand red to another right hand red) and then Noel (who cracked while stuck in a precarious position waiting for his turn.) That left a highly competitive Karen and Arthur.

"Left hand yellow!" 

Karen shifted her hand with relative ease. She was bent, crab-like, her head hanging upside-down. Arthur was practically on top of her and they were stuck face-to-face. 

"You look like a troll doll," he observed, "big moony troll doll."

"Smithers!" Karen cried when she heard him laughing loudest, "you are so dead when I'm finished here!"

"Left hand red!"

Arthur moved. David squinted at him and took a long drag from a well-deserved cigarette. "Darvill, do you actually have any bones?"

"Nope!"

"It's _weird_."

The match between Karen and Arthur went on and on. Richard and Noel started laying bets. Gareth leaned closer to Matt under the guise of grabbing a handful of crisps.

"Didn't know Karen was so bendy," he raised his eyebrows at him.

"Don't you get ideas," Matt warned him, grinning. He reclined in the beanbag and crossed his ankle over his knee. "Or, get ideas ... and be jealous."

It couldn't last forever. Their positions grew increasingly precarious until Karen began to wobble. She toppled and landed on her back, laughing. Matt leaned over and gave her a quick, upside-down kiss.

"All right?"

"I need a big glass of Babycham."

"Yeah, you do. Also, you do look like a troll doll. _Ow!_ "

Ines, Freema, Richard, Matt and Gareth were up next. This game was painfully shorter than the last. Freema was first out with a left foot blue failure. Ines, to her misery, lost her balance immediately after.

"Is it weird that I'm sort of turned on right now?" Jenna asked, eyes on the tangle that was Richard, Matt and Gareth. 

"No! Is it wrong that I'm turned on that you're turned on?" Replied David, cracking open a brazil nut.

Karen nearly sprayed Babycham everywhere. "This is not that sort of party!"

"Right foot green." Freema looked up from the spinner. "That's you, Richard."

"Oh, christalmightyfuck," Richard muttered. With great force of will and straining muscles he managed it. He made it one more round before the move back broke him and he fell on his hip. Matt outlasted Gareth by one more round.

"It's Darvill versus Smith!" Ines announced, rubbing Arthur's shoulders like a boxing coach. "The ultimate showdown."

"What does the winner get?" Arthur asked.

"Respect?" Karen suggested.

Matt and Arthur exchanged a look, shrugged and nodded. "Respect and bragging rights, suits me."

After a five minute break they were back at it, standing at opposite sides of the mat. They limbered up, shook out, traded barbs.

"You're going down, Darvill."

"You're going downer. Down to funky town."

Not very good barbs.

They squared up, got in one another's space, made their tough faces. That dissolved completely when Arthur gave Matt a quick peck on the lips. It took a long time for the squeals and laughter to die down and the game to start again after that.

And it was long. It went on, and on, and soon everyone lost interest. Karen and Gareth served the pudding much to Matt and Arthur's dismay. The spectators soon started a new game, which basically involved pelting the contestants with nuts and crisps and bottle caps and trying to distract them into falling. 

"Kaz, thirsty."

She shrugged and glanced at the others. "Concede defeat then or something."

"No, come on. Kaz. Kazza. Bring me a drink."

"Oh jeez, really?" She stuffed the last of her pudding and custard into her mouth and picked up his glass. She awkwardly held it to his lips. He slurped noisily and made a little hum when he was finished: but Karen kept tipping it, forcing him into drinking the lot. He was gasping and dripping scotch on to the mat when she finally took it away. 

"You - "

"And now we're even for the troll thing. Nyah."

Ines fed Arthur pudding, which Karen refused to do for Matt. 

"Fab pudding," Arthur grinned at Matt's hip.

"Shut up," Matt said to his shoulder.

Gareth, Jenna, Noel and Richard started playing Monopoly. The others sat around, chatting, hardly paying any attention to the game - Freema continued to diligently spin and read out directions. David showed Karen how to roll a joint. They shared a beanbag, discussing how Scotland was far better than England and giggling.

By the time Matt weakened and fell, nobody cared about Twister anymore. Jenna owned Fleet Street, the Strand and Trafalgar Square and was forcing Richard into mortgaging Fenchurch. There were simply more interesting things going on.

 

 

Matt wasn't in bed when Karen woke on Christmas morning. She spread her arms over the sheets, looking for him. She blinked awake, groggy and confused. She'd had plans for him. Sleepy, morning, Christmas sex had been on her mind when she'd gone to sleep. They had a big day - Christmas lunch with her parents, and then Christmas dinner at his Aunty Rosie's where his parents were staying. Karen wanted him at least three ways before they went to lunch.

So she waited, but the flat was silent. Karen was confused. She could not imagine where he had possibly gone. Then, she heard the front door open and close. Footsteps on the stairs. He'd been _out._ Karen sat up in bed, pulling up the lace strap of her nightie.

"Where've you - ?" 

Karen gaped. Matt was there, fully dressed but scuffy-looking, as though he'd gotten straight out of bed. He wasn't wearing a coat, so he hadn't left the building ... but it was what he held in his hands that threw her. He clambered awkwardly on to the bed and passed her the present, kissing her forehead. 

"Merry Christmas!!"

"It's a kitten!"

A fluffy, tortoiseshell kitten mewed, apparently as confused as she was. It pressed dainty little paws against Karen's chest, jerking its head around the room, peering into it with big blue eyes. The kitten was tiny, small enough to fit into her hands.

"It's a she," Matt said fondly, settling down beside her. He wiggled his fingers fondly at the creature. "Got her a few days ago ... couple downstairs have been keeping her for me."

Now that she had recovered from her surprise, Karen felt a wave of delight. She had been crazy with curiosity over what Matt's gift to her could possibly be. He had been so tight-lipped that she had begun to wonder if he had gotten her anything at all. 

"I love her," Karen declared, feeling her soft little ears.

"What are you going to name her?" 

"Hmm. I'll have to think about it."

"Can I have my present?"

"It's the big rectangle under the tree."

"I know." He grinned at her, planting several kisses on her mouth. "I looked at the cards."

Matt bounded off the bed, nearly scaring the wits out of the tiny, nameless kitten. When he returned the paper was half off. It was a brand new, leather briefcase, and it had cost Karen a whole week's pay. She had blown all of her personal savings on it, the money she usually kept for herself to spend on clothes and make-up.

"Oh ... Karen ... this is great."

"Can't have a Senior Architect going to work with that ratty messenger bag," she said, letting the kitten cautiously wander over her lap, sniffing at the air. "I can't believe you got me a cat."

Matt was breathing in the leather of his new suitcase, opening latches, grinning. "I've never had a posh briefcase like this," he said. He settled next to her again, holding the case on his knees. "So. Is there anything terrible I need to know about lunch at your Dad's? Any scary traditions he'll hate me more if I break? I know now not to insult his lemon tree."

Karen wiggled her finger at the kitten's nose. "He hates cats."


	23. Saturday Morning Unannounced

**March, 1966**

Karen removed her shoes and tucked her feet up on the neat little sofa. She studied Freema. Her hand covered one eye to block Jenna completely from view. Then, she swapped eyes to focus on Jenna and block Freema. She hummed, twirled her finger in midair.

"Turn around?"

The girls spun for her, hands lifted daintily from their sides, preening. And why not? The worst of the bridesmaid dress shopping was behind them. February had been a rough month of it - they had been inside every single shop on Kings Road and Carnaby Street, it seemed. It was tough to find something all of them liked. Karen insisted it be a democracy, that the perfect dress would be one they all wanted to wear, and they'd enjoy themselves in. Now it was crunch time. They had narrowed down frocks in two stores in Kings Road. They had been through the last like a hurricane and decided against the two maybe-dresses. There were three left to view in Lady Jane Boutique. One of these frocks was _it_.

Laura finally came out of the dressing room in the third dress. She wore the short, tiered cream lace and lime dress, secured with a high tulle bow at the waist. Jenna was in the green jacquard, full-skirted with a wide sweetheart neckline. And Freema wore the most fashion-forward garment: an eggshell blue shift with a glittering, beaded overlay patterned in silver diamonds. 

"Okay, bridesmaids. Talk to me," Karen said, snapping her fingers.

It was no surprise that Laura's opinion came first. 

"The green one would've been lovely ten years ago," she announced, priding herself on her fashion know-how. Her star was rising in the industry. She pulled the hem of Jenna's skirt. "Big skirts are out, Karen. The sock hops are over."

"It's very classic," Karen mused, turning a lock of hair round her fingers. "And I love the material."

"Sort of glossy," Jenna agreed, swishing her hips.

Laura let the skirt go. "Yeah. But it's not in vogue anymore. And you've got to think of the frock you're wearing. You'll have cutting edge 66 next to tired 55."

She made an excellent point. Karen looked at Jenna. "Thoughts?"

"When she puts it like that ... but, look ... swish." She rotated her hips again, admiring the way the skirt fanned out. She sighed. "Won't break my heart to see it go. I like the others."

"Fall back, soldier." Karen waved her hand at her, and Jenna dutifully stepped away. "Right. Down to two."

"Which one do _you_ like best, Karen?" Freema asked.

"I've got a favourite," Karen answered blithely. "Always have. But I like both, and you lot have to wear them, so I'd rather you sort it out."

Laura pointed at the eggshell shift on Freema. "That one. It's perfect."

"Reasons."

They were in fine form. After seeing so many dresses, and everything coming down to personal preference and shape, they had developed a method. A simple 'I do/don't like it' was not sufficient. Explanations had to be provided.

"It's the right length. It's fashionable. It's sexy and it's fun."

"Freema?"

Freema walked to the full-length mirrors and studied herself. "How'd we do our hair?"

Karen rose and slipped behind her former housemate. She gently pulled Freema's dark hair up, thinking, then combed the back half down with her fingers. "Half up and half down?"

"That works. I quite like this one. Better than the frilly one. Never was fond of it, have to say."

"Jenna?" Karen was still holding up Freema's thick hair. "Don't feel pressured, if you don't like it ..."

Jenna decided to try it on. Lady Jane didn't have her size on hand, so she had to try one larger but the overall effect showed what she needed to know. "I think this is the one, Karen."

"Me too." Karen pulled her dress in from the back, giving them a better idea of the fit. "Look at you. Sexy little bird. And it's your turn next."

"Yeah, fancy you sneaking in ahead of me."

Laura hesitated on her way back to the changing room. The back of her dress was unzipped. "Tell me how it happened, Jenna. I've not heard yet. I wanna hear it from you."

The bridesmaids disappeared into the changing rooms. Their disembodied voices carried over the partitions to continue the conversation, while Karen placed an order for the dresses with a salesgirl. She made arrangements for a seamstress to see to them once they arrived and tailor the fit. Karen's parents had finally accepted that she really was going to marry Matt (her mother was delighted) and were paying for everything. After the way they had behaved toward Matt, Karen had no compunction with taking their money. She did not even bother looking at the price tags.

"It was Christmas Eve," Jenna told her story for what was perhaps the hundredth time, "and I was in the front room watching _The Julie Andrews Show_ on BBC1 - "

"I saw that, that was good," Freema interrupted from her changing room.

"And," Jenna continued, with a very practiced air, "everyone was being a bit odd. My brother Ben kept grinning at me like he knew some big secret, and me Mum was looking out the curtains all the time. Then there was this knock on the door and Mum said I should get it, and we had a bit of a row cos she was up and I was comfortable and then Dad got in on it, so I _had_ to. And when I opened the door Richard was there, and his family was all around him in their coats and with suitcases and things. He was so nervous - "

"- Bless -!"

"- but he got down on one knee and held out a little box and said - see I can't remember exactly what he said, cos I kept thinking he must be so cold and his breath was escaping in white puffs, but he asked me to marry me and I said yes. The end. Oh and all his family cheered."

Laura came out in her own clothes. "So your family was all in on it, then."

"Oh yes. Since summer, if you can believe it. His family stayed with us for Christmas. It was lovely."

"Imagine if you'd said no," Laura was laughing, "you should've, just to get it up him."

"No, that's mean!" Freema emerged, buttoning her blouse. "Would've broken his little heart."

"Slightly more romantic than yours, Karen," said Laura.

Karen grinned at her. "He got there in the end."

 

 

The telephone on Matt's desk rang. He looked over, startled to the point of nearly drawing a line through the plans at hand. His glasses were pushed up the bridge of his nose with his middle finger as he picked up the receiver.

"Smith."

"Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Smith. I have Mrs Gillan on the line."

His voice lowered. "Karen's mother, Deb?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Again?"

"I didn't say you were in. I told her I'd phone and check."

"No ... no, it's all right. I'll have to talk to her sometime. Put her through." 

Matt leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He was still working on the third floor, but as a senior architect he now had a more private space in which to work. Partitions gave him a chest-high screening on two sides and he had a window overlooking the street. Matt tugged off his glasses and cast them on the desk, hearing the subtle click as the line connected with Marie.

"Mrs Gillan, hello, this - "

"Matthew, sorry for interrupting, sure you're very busy - "

"Yes actually, I'm swamped with - "

"But it's awfully important. It's about the reception. The restaurant I've hired doesn't have suitable catering facilities. I've spoken to them about what's required _several_ times, but they're completely unreasonable about meeting quite simple - "

He winced. "Mrs Gillan, wouldn't Karen be better to chat to about this? I'm really bus - "

"Well, I tried Karen, but they keep telling me she's out on the floor and can't come to the telephone. They work her so hard."

And _that_ was such a lie. Matt knew for a fact that Karen was seldom in a position at Hamleys where she couldn't come to the phone, as she was often working in the office or on the front desk. He also knew - through Arthur - that she had been finding excuses not to answer the telephone in case it was Marie, and telling everyone else to inform her mother she was unavailable.

If he was smart, he would've instructed Deborah to do the same. He still could - but if one of them didn't take Marie's telephone calls then she'd be round their flat with a list of ideas to be actioned. 

"So," Marie continued, "the issue is that the location is really convenient. It's around the corner from the church, and quite a nice, airy space. But I'm not happy with the catering. If they had their way, they'd be feeding everybody crisps and dip!"

"Crisps and dip's not a problem, Marie. Kaz and I really don't - "

"Well, I care, and so will the guests, but it's sweet of you not to be bothered. We can afford to do this properly. So we're doing it properly."

He wasn't sure why she bothered phoning him. Marie was clearly not interested in listening to anything he had to say. Matt supposed that her mind was already made up by the time she rang, and she was trying to deceive herself into believing that whatever she insisted was okay with him. Maybe even that it was his idea. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Right. Properly. Still - talk to Karen, make sure she - "

"No, no, you're fine. I've already found somewhere so she needn't worry."

Matt tuned out after that. Marie was going on about a new restaurant she'd chosen and the better catering options. He really didn't care about this. He wanted to marry Karen, but a _wedding_ ... this was a different kettle of fish altogether. As far as he was concerned crisps and dip were fine. Marie seemed to want Beluga caviar and wafers. It was difficult to look forward to a wedding when it had become such a monster, beyond the control of the two people at its centre.

Karen's attitude was difficult to predict. One evening would have her complaining about her mother's almost militant interference, but the next she would happily tell him all about the arrangements Marie had made for ... whatever it was they had to organise. Matt quietly kept his thoughts to himself. This was in part due to an excess of work at BBD and partly because he wasn't at all interested in flower arrangements. These telephone calls from Marie were beginning to alter his indifference, however. 

By the time he finally got off the phone with Marie his thoughts were scattered. Where had he been up to? He stared at the plans, leafed through them. He was irritated. Perhaps he should have a word with Deb after all and restrict Marie's ability to reach him. It seemed more sensible to disrupt his home life than work.

Lynne disapproved; she didn't have to say anything, but he could hear it in her voice when she spoke. It was traditional for the bride's family to foot the bill for wedding expenses, but to take total control?

It had gotten to him. Matt found himself thinking about it on and off during the day, creeping up when he was supposed to be doing something else. His rule of silence had to be broken.

Matt brought it up with Karen after they'd eaten that evening. She was sitting on the floor, playing with Badger. The kitten was growing so fast, furry and wiry, mischievous and social. Karen trailed an old shoelace over the carpet. Badger watched attentively and pounced only when she thought nobody was looking.

"Your mother phoned again today."

Karen made a face. "Lucky you."

"No, lucky _you_ , what's this, telling everyone at Hamleys to tell her you're always busy? Don't even deny it. I've a reliable source."

"Arthur's grassed on me."

"She's your mother. Why do I have to talk to her?"

"You don't have to. Tell Debbie you don't want to."

"And then when she can't get either of us she'll be here with her list. Start taking her bloody calls, Karen. I need to concentrate at work."

"Busy," she muttered with that obstinate air she took when she knew she was wrong, but was not ready to admit it.

This was probably his window in to that prickly subject, actually. He watched Badger for a moment or two, tearing his gaze away only when it was time to pretend he hadn't seen her latest pounce.

"Karen, it's not just the phone calls."

"How d'you mean?"

"I ... look, I'm just going  - "

"It doesn't feel like we're the ones getting married anymore, does it?"

Matt was relieved, but not entirely surprised that she understood. He immediately slid down the sofa to sit beside her. "No."

"Don't get me wrong. I'm loving the enthusiasm. Six months ago I wouldn't have thought this was possible. I thought they'd never come round. But this is almost ... too much."

"I reckon your mum's trying to make it up to you. The way she was, not standing up to your dad ..."

"Then not having told me about her own miscarriages..."

"Yeah, what was that about?"

"Honestly? Matt, no idea. I s'pose," she raised the shoelace in the air to amuse Badger, "I wondered a bit why I hadn't brothers or sisters. She said she just never knew how to tell me. Not that knowing would've made much difference."

"No," Matt was quick to add. He was always mindful to absolve Karen of guilt the second it looked like she might go there. "Next time, hey Kaz."

"Yeah."

"So, your mother, our wedding," he steered them back on track, "I _am_ marrying you, right?"

"Pretty sure it's me and not her, yeah. Ow - sharp bloody claws!"

"See, I don't get why you can't just say no to her the way you did when she had ideas about the dresses."

Karen heaved a dramatic sigh. "Cos - that's - it's something I know about, isn't it? All this other stuff - lists and flowers, stupid menus ... I dunno. Too hard. And I don't have time, working four days - "

"I told you, you can call that quits whenever you want," Matt reminded her. "I can support us both, now."

Karen ran the shoelace over his feet. Badger charged after it and watched, eager for it to wiggle again. "I like working. I want to work. I like having my own money, okay? I know you think that's mad, but I want to do my bit."

"Kaz, you already do. You cook me tea, iron me shirts, have sandwiches ready in the morning -"

"My life's ambition isn't to be a boring housewife, Matt. Don't mind cooking your chops but I'm going to bring money into the house too. Okay?"

Two halves of Matt pulled in opposite directions. Part of him wanted her to be as independent as she desired. He was  proud of his modern wife, working out of motivation rather than wartime necessity. The other half was far more traditional. Conservative. It believed that she ought to be home in a wife's typified place. He would work and buy her anything she wanted, and in return she should be home whenever he needed her. Matt was rather embarrassed by that half. It made him feel old-fashioned, and he knew Karen wouldn't like it one bit.

"So your mother," he stubbornly pulled the conversation back again, "what are we going to do?"

"It's too late to tell her to stuff it," Karen made a face. "She's done so much work. And she means well. But I'll call her tomorrow, okay? Promise. I'll tell her to make a list or something and to stop calling you."

"And one more thing," Matt said, throwing his arm over her shoulders, "remember this is the only wedding you're going to get - "

"Sure about that, are you?"

"Bit, yeah," he gave her an affectionate squeeze, "so make sure it's the one you want. Don't let her railroad you into something else."

"You mean the one _we_ want."

"That we want, yeah."

"I'll remember," she promised as Badger pounced. She missed the shoelace by several inches. "Like you said - it's our wedding."

 

 

**April, 1966**

Karen rolled over. She blinked at the little red clock on the bedside table. It was 9:28, Saturday morning. She smiled at it. No need to get up today, no plans ... just a day to themselves. She turned to see Matt, the sheets whispering together. He was turned on his side, facing away from her. Still fast asleep - he worked so hard. Matt had taken two weeks leave for their wedding and honeymoon. The wedding present from her parents was nine days in Athens. They had a little phrasebook, but all she had mastered so far was: 'I don't speak Greek.'

She shimmied closer, pressing her bare skin against Matt's. Her hand stroked him from shoulder to wrist and up again. "Matt." She kissed the back of his neck. "Matt." A second kiss.

"Mm, go away, Karen, sleeping," he mumbled.

It wasn't enough to deter her. Besides, once he woke up, he wouldn't _want_ her to be deterred. She stroked up and down his arm again, pressing closer.

"Matt."

When she got no response she realised she'd have to be bolder. He stiffened in surprise as her hand cupped his cock. She pulled him gently. Matt groaned - yes, that brought him round.

"Karen..."

"Wake up, I want you," she murmured. She licked the back of his neck, exacting a full-body shiver. "Better than sleeping."

"You're such a tart," he mumbled. She felt his muscles ripple and tense as he pushed into her hand. Matt was no longer quite so soft and warm, but growing rapidly hard and hot with expectation.

She stopped kissing his neck to nip his earlobe. "Teach me a lesson, then."

"Nah, just keep this up. This is good."

"Mm, is it?" Karen refused to move her hand any faster, though. "Know what's better? Me. Wet. Waking up like this ... wanting you ..." Still nothing. Her hand stopped in frustration. "Matt!"

He laughed and finally turned over. He didn't look completely awake yet, but he was getting there. Matt gathered her up in his arms. She could feel him hard against her thigh. It would be the smallest of movements to push inside her. One kiss, one thrust of the hips. It was tempting ... but they had learned their lesson.

Or very nearly - Matt kept talking about the no-condom thing. At first she thought he was just desperate to do it without one, but she was beginning to think there was more to it. Karen slowly began to realise that he wanted a baby sooner than she did. She had thought he was a bit more modern than that - she wanted to wait a few years, but he seemed to favour the traditional footsteps of having one right away.

But that was a conversation for another morning.

For now, she trusted that he would wait. And he did. They moved slowly, sleepily together, hands roaming warm bodies. Kisses began gently but soon became merciless exploration, each aching for more. He rubbed his shaft between her legs and groaned at the wetness of her. His teeth grazed her collarbone as her fingernails dug into his shoulder blade - 

Knocking. Someone was knocking at the door.

Matt looked up at her. His stubble prickled against her breast. "Ignore it."

"It might be important."

"More important than this?" His fingers dipped between her legs, lightly, teasing her with a preview. She shuddered. "They'll go away."

"Yeah ... they will ..."

His long, deft fingers traced slowly up her folds. He prised back the hood of skin hiding her clit, ghosting his wet fingertip over it. Matt's eyes bored into her own. "They've already gone away."

"Yes," Karen breathed, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird, "oh, that's _nice_..."

The knocking came again. Matt closed his eyes briefly, leaning his chin on her breast. "They're not going to go, are they."

"Probably not."

He disentangled himself, but not without a final, long, hungry kiss. "We're not finished," he promised. Matt found his pyjamas and dressing gown, pulling the cord tight. "You stay put."

She mock-saluted him, flopping back once he had gone. God ... typical. It was probably the landlord about the pipes again. She checked her memory thoroughly, but she couldn't remember any plans she'd made that would have someone coming so early on a Saturday morning. Her curiosity was laid to rest when Matt slipped back into the bedroom looking very sour.

"Your mother," he said.

Karen struggled up on to her elbows. "What?"

" _Seating arrangements._ "

"Oh, you're not serious," Karen breathed, dismayed. She flung the sheets aside and stumbled into a nightie and robe. She dragged her fingers through her hair in a poor effort to tame it before staggering past Matt.

Marie was unrolling a large sheet of paper and weighing it down on the dining table.

"Mum! You have to phone first, we were still in bed!"

"I know, sorry love," Marie answered, sounding anything but. She adjusted the pin in her hat. "But I tried phoning last night, no answer, so I thought ... and this is important."

"We were out last night."

"Oh, there you are then."

Karen glanced at Matt who, grumpily (hair sticking up at every imaginable angle) stomped into the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Mum, you have to telephone first," Karen whispered, a trifle desperately. "Matt's working really hard right now, sometimes he really needs his sleep."

"I wouldn't come if it wasn't important," Marie insisted, still focused on the plans. Karen wondered if she was going to turn out like this. "It's got to be finalised today, you see."

"It's just _seating arrangements!_ "

Her mother looked right at her for the first time. "Karen, I really don't appreciate your tone. Your father and I have put a lot of work and money into - "

"Yes! And Matt and I are very grateful," she said, attempting to tap into a reservoir of patience that was fast drying up, "but it's Saturday morning unannounced, mother!"

"Won't take long!"

"Cuppa, Mrs Gillan?" Matt poked his head into the room with an expression that could curdle milk.

"Please!" She replied brightly. 

Matt looked at Karen and she nodded hopelessly, shrugging. Well, the sooner she got this over with, the better. She hugged herself and walked to the plans. There was the bridal table, with herself and Matt in the middle. Freema, Jenna and Laura ran down her side and David, Arthur and Gareth down Matt's. Karen turned her attention to the other tables, scanning them. These were all round, seating eight people apiece. There were their parents, family, right ...

"Wait, who is that?"

"Mr and Mrs Moffat, dear."

"I don't know them."

"Yes you do. They live in Scotland, used to visit us when you were little."

"But I haven't seen them since then! I didn't invite them."

"We did, dear, it's polite."

Karen jabbed her finger at another couple of names. "Davies? Not _Dr_ Davies, Dad hates him!"

"Yes, but we were invited to his wedding, so it's polite."

Karen had definitely not seen these names on the list of invitations. She couldn't believe this - where were her friends? "Mr Nation? Who is Mr Nation?"

"A friend of you father's!"

"Where are our friends?" 

"Well, here, darling!"

Karen stared. "You're - Mum! You've put them right down the back! Look! Ines, Richard, Mr Capaldi - everyone's squashed down the back! Dad's friends are all at the front and - this is stupid! I didn't even invite all these people!"

"We did!"

"But it's _my_ wedding!"

"What's the matter?" Matt came back in, his hair now a bit flatter.

"Look!' She gestured at the seating arrangements. "See where our friends are! I don't even know these Moffat, Davies, Nation people ... who is Gatiss, Mum? Mr Gatiss! Never heard of him!"

"He's - "

" _Friend of Dad's?_ This is my wedding, not the social event of the year! You and Dad said we couldn't have some of Matt's old footy friends cos there wasn't room, but we don't even _know_ these people! They don't know _us!_ " She stood back, resolute. "I don't want them there."

"It's a bit late, love," Marie said. At least she had the decency to look abashed. "They RSVP'd."

"Then you do this," Karen said, stepping forward and away from Matt's hand on her back. She picked up the pen and started crossing names out and replacing them with her friends. "And this. And this. And you put this silly Gatiss person behind a pot plant. Put them all together, they can all talk about how they don't _know us_. There. And this, Mum - important now - Mr Baker happens to be Matt's boss? Sort of important? So for god's sake put him with our friends so he doesn't think we got hire-a-crowd for the reception!"

Timidly, Marie said, "Are those ... all the adjustments you'd like to make?"

Karen raised her chin and scanned the rest of the sheet. "I think so."

Her mother removed the weights and rolled the paper back up. "I'll ... make those changes, then. I'll see if I can."

"No, if you can't, you walk around on the day and move all the little placeholders around," Karen insisted. "Honestly, Mum ... this is our wedding. I can't believe Dad's friends are there and we couldn't have ours! I've - " she had to stop before she lost her temper. If she made her mother cry, then she'd feel guilty, and she had every right to be the one who was mad. "I've got to get Matt's breakfast on."

It was a poor excuse. However, it was one her mother would believe, given their different worlds. On weekdays, Matt made his own bloody breakfast. Weekends he tended to make hers, being quite good with a frypan. 

He came into the kitchen while she was cracking eggs into a dish.

"Your mum's gone."

"Good."

"How many eggs are in that?"

"Seven."

"Okay. There's two of us .. so .." he put his hand over hers. Gently, he took the egg from her and stowed it back into the carton. "Scrambled?"

"I don't care."

Karen abandoned it and went to the window. She pulled open the blind and the window, just enough to let a little crisp morning air through. When she turned around, Matt was tipping out a few eggs into a smaller dish with the greatest difficulty.

"It's completely out of hand," Karen said. "Half of the people there we don't even know."

"I only heard you say three or four names."

"There were more. I knew some of them, but they're not family. Or friends. Associates. I'm so embarrassed. I wanted this to be fun, you know? Bit of a party, all our mates and things ... instead it's a chance for my Dad to network and drink whisky with his stupid dentist friends." Karen groaned and leaned against the sink. She felt strangely desperate. Cornered. "I don't even want to do it now, you know? When I think about it, all that comes into my head are all the daft things Mum's worried about. You know she's still trying to get me to put a couple of inches on the bottom of my dress?"

Matt glanced up at her. "How short is this thing, anyway?"

"You'll see. And then the cake? I didn't want fruitcake. I know it's the way it's done, but I don't _like_ fruitcake. And guess what we've got?"

"Fruitcake?"

"Fruitcake."

"I don't like fruitcake either," Matt admitted. "And - I wasn't gonna say - "

"No, say, say."

"I don't like the vows. I saw them. They're all, 'thank you god' for this and 'name of god' for that. And no offense to god or whoever, but it's so ... it's not me. It's not how I want to say 'I love you and I'll look after you' and blah bloody blah."

Karen leaned forward. There was a glint in her eye, one he was sure to recognise. She grinned. "Then let's not say them!"

"What? Gotta say something they approve of, Kaz."

"We'll go see the church in the morning. Sunday. It's open! We'll change them, I'm sure they'll help us find what we want to say - the way we want to say it."

A slow smile spread across his face as he started beating the eggs. "We could do that, yeah." Gradually, the beating stopped. Something thoughtful, something devious, was entering his expression. "You know ... you know what else we could do, Kaz?"

"What else could we do?" Karen moved forward. She was certain they were on the same wavelength. She could see it in his eyes. Badger wandered into the kitchen and wound around her ankles, ready for her breakfast.

"You know what we could do."

"Right after?"

"We'd have to be quick."

"Could we have a sneaky party?" They were on either side of the central bench, leaning toward one another, consumed with the mischief of their plans. "You know where."

"Just a quick soiree?"

"Better than this stupid reception with people we don't know!"

Matt rested his hands on either side of the bowl. "You'll get in trouble."

"They might hate you again. Your parents - will they be all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Might warn them beforehand ... cos Laura will have to know ..."

"Everyone sworn to secrecy."

"Bit drastic, isn't it?"

Karen smiled. "I think it's our style. Since when have we done anything the normal way?"

"Normal's boring."

"Normal's _so_ boring."

He leaned across the bench and laid his hand on the back of Karen's neck. He kissed her soundly. "You know we're setting the bar awfully high for the rest of our marriage, right?"


	24. In My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Somersault - for now! Thank you to everyone who has read along and been so encouraging. Especially you, meggygurl! 
> 
> I have some ideas for a possible sequel detailing the latter half of the decade ... so it may not be quite the end after all!

**May 1966**

There was no real element of surprise. Subterfuge was entertaining for the conspirators: a game of hushed-up planning and knowing winks the second Matt's back was turned. The groom was no fool. He knew what was coming. That was why he was waiting so patiently for them when they pounded on his front door - shoes on, shirt pressed, a look of wary expectation on his face.

He was right to feel an edge of anxiety. He was at the centre of a stag night which, rather than celebrating a man's final night of so-called freedom, was actually geared toward humiliation. A successful stag ought to give the others enough to laugh about for months. A great one would give them years.

"It's stag!" David sang out, letting himself in. He pushed by Matt, who feebly complained about something David was not remotely interested in. As the others filed inside, David poked his head around the attic flat.

"Karen's gone, then?"

Matt, stranded in a sea of back slaps and devious grins, nodded. "She left an hour ago. Her mother's. Which I'm assuming you knew, since your timing's brilliant."

"Had my sources, yeah," replied David. His source, actually, was Karen herself.

That hadn't been fun, but Karen was a good sport and had been expecting Matt would be ambushed for a stag night. She used the opportunity to threaten David.

"Don't you do anything terrible to him!" She'd warned with such ferocity that David swore never to cross her. "I want him on time at the church tomorrow. If I find out you put him on a train to Cardiff, or shaved off one of his eyebrows - "

David really shouldn't have done it, but he giggled. Tittered, actually. Karen was as stern and terrible as a headmistress. "That's a good one!"

"Whatever you do to him, David Tennant, I will do back to you threefold."

"So if I get drunk and friendly and give Matt a little kiss or two, you'd - "

That was about the time Karen began thumping him with her handbag. Yellowish bruises on his arm were reminders of her threat.

Not that David would have done anything too terrible to Matt. This didn't stem from their enduring friendship, no, this was because David's stag was yet to come and Matt's retribution would be plain scary.

And he _was_ a little scared of Karen.

"You know if she's gone to her old man's you might never see her again," David teased, straight-faced. "She could be on a plane to Australia as we speak."

"Nice try. But all his fancy mates are coming to the reception, aren't they? He hates me, but he's solid on impressing them."

David gave him a cool look. "Only, they won't be so impressed. Will they?"

Matt's only answer was to cryptically raise his eyebrows.

They numbered eleven. Matt, David, Arthur, Richard, Gareth and Noel, the old gang; Frazer and William, with whom he'd gone to school; John from the club circuit and finally two mates from work, Dan and Mark. Most of them had visited before and made themselves at home, crashing on the furniture.

"Hey hey hey!" David cried, waving his arms. "Don't you all go getting comfortable! We're going out!"

"This first," Arthur pulled out a bottle of whisky from nowhere, and helped himself to glasses from the cabinet. He lined them up as though they were shots, pouring just enough to chug back in one mouthful, twelve in a row.

Matt pointed. "There's eleven of us."

"You get two shots."

"I just want to remind you all," Matt adjusted his collar, "that you're all fucked if you screw me over tonight. Especially you, Madden, you're next."

"I'm just along for the ride."

"It's all right, Smith," John gave him a formal little nod, "I'm your wingman."

"Why don't I feel reassured?"

Arthur passed around the glasses. They were a motley collection: two matching wineglasses, a few different shaped drinking cups and two teacups to make up the numbers. He threw his arm around Matt's shoulders.

"So! We're all here tonight to give you a proper send-off before your life is over."

David frowned. He'd done most of the organising for the stag night - if you could call such a thing organised. He'd also had a few ideas of a speech he wanted to make, and now Arthur was stealing his thunder.

"Cheers, mate. Cheers to all of you, thanks for coming," Matt said, humbly.

David put his arm around Matt's shoulders too, so as not to be outdone. "I've known you a long time, Matt. Six years."

"Thought it was five?"

"Definitely six. And I've got to say," an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders for his audience's benefit, "I was not expecting this! The Matt I knew never phoned birds back. Gave them the night of their lives and left a little trail of broken hearts in his wake. He used to say birds weren't worth the trouble."

"Yeah, they were too much bloody hassle," Matt agreed.

"So what happened?" Gareth asked.

"Thing for redheads!" Laughed David. "I knew he was done the first time I met her. This leggy, bright-eyed, innocent little thing. There Matt was trying to impress her and look cool, but it's a bit hard when he couldn't stop oggling her. I rolled my eyes and said to myself, David, you've lost him."

It was all theatre, but there was some truth in what David so light-heartedly said. There had been a certain something in the air the night he met Karen. David hadn't been completely aware of it at the time but know he realised what it was: inevitability. He had always known Matt was heading here with Karen, the steps he had never taken with anybody else. 

That first night Karen had said three words which stayed with David. _He saved me._ It'd taken David a few weeks to get out of Matt exactly what she'd meant. Matt had been extremely modest and answered as simply as possible. _This guy was trying to make her; I stopped him._ David still didn't know any more detail, but that wasn't where his interest lay. From then on he understood how serious Matt was about his bubbly new girlfriend. His _innocent_ new girlfriend. He was tempted to make a joke to that effect but fear and respect for Karen stayed his tongue.

"So Matt," David continued, raising his teacup, "I've lost you, me mate, can't compete with a pair of legs like that. But here's cheers for finding a nice bird who took pity on you. You've raised the bar."

The others all had their cups and glasses raised.

"To your last night of freedom, mate!"

They threw back their shots. Then, it was a matter of cramming everyone into the top of a double-decker bus. It took them across the Thames and to Soho.

David loved Soho. It was the pulse point of London in an exciting new era. By day, any number of natty little boutiques could be visited, opening up a world of fashion and beauty. Cafes were staffed by cool and interesting people, their wireless tuned to pirate radio stations to hear the latest beats. And as night fell an underworld of clubs threw open their doors. Smoke and short-skirted girls and curious new drugs flew out on crazy new tunes; bands bringing meaningful, vibrant music to the city. London was the heart, youth the soul and together, they would change _everything_.

Tonight, however, David wasn't interested in revolution. Soho was also home to strings of dark little strip clubs who took their cues from Europe. The eleven men were out of place on the bus but once they stepped out in Soho they were home. With Matt celebrated in their midst, they went from pub to pub, warming up their inhibitions until they were in questionable shreds. Then they started on the strip clubs.

Rules were simple. Everyone (except Matt) had a turn shouting the round in each new venue and it was also that person's responsibility to inform the pretty dancer cavorted before them that it was Matt's Last Night. David was amused to notice it only took him one club to get over his embarrassment, and enjoy being the centre of attention.

By the end of the night, Matt was so full that he couldn't walk. Everyone else had long since disappeared. It was left to Arthur and David (neither of whom were in much better shape) to bear Matt between them. They dragged him into a taxi.

"Let's go see Karen," Matt slurred, leaning heavily on David's shoulder.

David looked over his head at Arthur. "Matt. This is very responsible. Taking you home."

"Kaz is home."

"No, Karen's at her Dad's," David answered, humouring him.

Matt batted the air listlessly. "K'dad's such ... bastard."

"Why doesn't he like you?" Arthur mused, lighting up. He sucked in a lungful of smoke. "I mean you're pretty square."

"Get fuck."

"Well, you are, got a good job."

"He's clean," David added. Arthur's smoke looked pretty good and he started patting his own shirt for a packet. He affected a very toffy, Queen's English accent. "I suppose he's not one of their kind, really."

Arthur nudged Matt. "What did you say?"

"Lemons."

"Lemons?"

"Said lemons shit and ... fuckin' his daughter."

"Yeah, s'pose that's enough - pass us a fag, Darvill, mine've gone for a wander. New one, new one, don't want that soggy rubbish you're suckin' on."

"Lez go see Kaz."

"Come on, Smith, she's at her dad's." David hesitated, flame wiggling in midair. He looked over at Arthur. "Could, you know. Would really piss her old man off."

"And what's he gonna do now?"

"Might piss Karen off too. Bit scary, Karen."

Arthur made a face. "She's not even. Blow over in a strong wind, that one. Let's fuckin' do it."

David tapped the driver's shoulder and relayed the change of address, miraculously remembering it from the time Matt had taken her home. Then he rolled the window down a notch and leaned back to enjoy his smoke.

"Gonna take you to see Kaz, Matt."

Matt muttered something unintelligible; Arthur frowned at David. "What'd he say?"

David nudged him. "Speak up!"

When Matt mumbled again David grinned, looking at the other man. "He reckons he's gonna get some."

That had them laughing all the way to St. John's Wood. David asked the driver to wait and, with Arthur's help, hauled Matt on to the street. It took several steps for him to find his feet, during which time David realised just how late it was - close to three in the morning.

They let themselves in the front gate. David had never been inside before. Karen's family home was impressive, rising white and imposing in the darkness, partially concealed from the road by a strong box hedge. It was a riches to fucking rags story if he was going to be brutal about it. Karen came from _money_ \- and David hadn't fully appreciated that until right now. Drunk as he was, he recognised Mr Gillan's problem with Matt was bigger than lemons.

"Do we knock?" Arthur asked him, supporting Matt around the waist and stomach.

And then something inside Matt woke up and he flung out his arms, unbalancing David and Arthur. He shouted. It was sudden and loud as a gunshot in the silent suburb. David heard something squawk in outrage in a nearby tree and several dogs start barking.

" _KAREN GILLAN WAKE UP I LOVE YOU!_ "

"Matt, shurrup!" David's vision swam as he hurried back to Matt. He was dimly aware of Arthur a metre or two away, hands on his knees, laughing at the flowerbed.

" _KAREN KAREN KAREN GILLAN!_ "

"Matt!"

" _AI-AI-AI-AI-ARRIIIIIBA KAREN GILLAN!_ "

"Since when do you know _Spanish!?_ "

"Where is she this is her house we're married she's supposed to be here by now."

David stared at him, trying not to laugh. "Oh, you are in so much trouble if you're serious right now."

Their attention was drawn to a window opening on the second floor. Yellow lamplight spilled into the night air, throwing an elongated patch on to the grass. By chance, it highlighted David and Matt exactly. It was, fortunately, Karen in a white nightgown.

"Matt!" She sounded scandalised.

" _OHGOD SHE LOOKING ANGEL!_ "

"Stop shouting!" She hissed down. "David, make him stop shouting."

"You heard her indoors, stop shouting."

"Who's laughing over there?"

"Uh, Arthur?" David stage-whispered up.

"Who?"

"Arthur!" He called, a little louder. Louder than he meant; he was still pretty drunk too, and controlling his volume was _hard_. 

"What?" Arthur looked up.

"Oh christ, it's like Laurel and bloody Hardy. Talking to Karen!"

"Hey Karen."

"Hey Arthur."

" _YOU'RE SO BEAUTIFUL._ "

"Matt, stop bloody shouting!" Karen cried. Someone inside the room drew her attention and she turned away.

That aggravated Matt. "Wait wait where's she going?"

"She'll be back, Matt, just shut up." David knew that this was the point where he ought to be regretting indulging a very drunk wish; but he realised the funny ache in his chest was laughter and he didn't know how long he'd been doing it for. Him and Arthur both, while Matt stood unsteadily.

"Gonna climb up," Matt determined.

"No!" David and Arthur cried in unison, hauling him back. 

Karen looked down again. "What's going on down there?"

"I'm climbing up!" Matt shouted. Perhaps they had gotten through to him - he was quieter than before. "Because I love you and because I'm," confused pause, "and because I'm love you."

There was a pause, and then Matt started for the wisteria again. It took a great deal of effort for David and Arthur to hold him back. He was bloody strong, David would give him that, and they were laughing too hard to easily restrain him. There was a scuffle, a stumble, and then they were all on their backs in the flowerbed.

"Um ... do you need a doctor?" Karen timidly called down. David heard traces of humour in her tone.

"Think we're okay," David answered after a cursory check.

"Right, can you maybe like, go then, cos people are getting kind of cross."

"Yeah. Yeah, metre's running ... "

Falling down had been easy. Getting all three of them back on their feet was nigh impossible. As soon as one was up another tumbled. Laughter became howls, and Karen's outline leaned on the windowsill, drumming her fingers.

While David was trying to get Arthur out of the azaleas, Matt came around enough to finally make a little sense. He stood with his legs planted wide for balance, gazing up at the window.

"Karen."

Weary and patient, she answered, "yes, Matt."

"Everything makes sense when I'm with you."

David paused, doubled-over. From the window Karen's voice floated down. "I love you too."

It was a strange moment. He'd been around Matt and Karen countless times, alone and in company. They were always affectionate with one another, poking fun and sneaking glances. But this was entirely different, intimate on a different scale, and he almost wished he had not intruded on their privacy and overheard. He was afraid to move and break the spell, but in the end Arthur did it for him. His boots scrabbled in the flowerbed until David hauled him up.

"I wish you were home."

"Tomorrow."

"Then we could shag."

Okay, perfect romantic moment was over. "Good night Karen!" David called loudly, and started shoving Matt toward the gate.

"Stay with him!"

"I will!" He groaned, trying not to think of what this taxi fare was going to cost and hoping against hope he had enough in his wallet to cover it. Matt was unconscious before the taxi took off. By the time they reached Elephant and Castle Arthur had passed out too: David swore revenge the day he married Ines, or anybody else.

 

 

Wedding photography was very boring, Jenna thought. Karen's parents were paying for everything and had the say-so on most things, so there was little choice but to watch the brylcreemed photographer take endless solemn pictures of Karen. Her calves ached. They'd discovered that the silver overlay on the dresses liked to catch on the fabric underneath, so Mrs Gillan had outlawed sitting until the wedding was over. 

"Jelly baby?" Laura opened a packet and offered them around.

Jenna wrinkled her nose. "Nah. Don't like them."

"Who doesn't like _jelly babies?_ "

"Me."

"Maybe you haven't tried the right colour."

"No. Tried them all."

"Pink's the best," Freema declared, digging through the packet with thumb and forefinger for a pink one.

"Mind you don't smear the colouring on your dresses, girls!" Mrs Gillan called. She hadn't missed a trick. She'd even, despairing as though it were their collective futures on the line, tried to talk them out of false eyelashes, heavy mascara and eyeliner. That battle had been lost before it was begun.

Jenna watched the photographer arrange Karen in front of the window. He pulled her veil over her face, smoothing it into artful folds. He showed her exactly how to hold her bouquet, a fine spray of orchids with a scattering of tiny blue flowers Jenna didn't recognise. She peeked at her own, smaller bouquet. The same flowers were in hers.

"Now look down, Miss Gillan, contemplate the solemnity of the rites ... yes, very good ..."

"Yeah, contemplate being stuck with my stupid boring brother for the rest of your life. And god help you!"

Freema, Jenna and Karen giggled. Jenna had discovered that Laura could get away with saying things the others couldn't. Jenna had heard from Matt (well, from Richard, who heard it from Matt) that Laura had given Karen's parents what-for at the hospital on that terrible day nearly a year ago. She had earned the right to be a little more forward.

When Karen's pictures were finished the photographer took them into the garden, where he arranged the girls in front of slightly bent and flattened azaleas. Part way through, Freema frowned and ruined the shot by bending down and picking through the bushes. She had found a wallet. 

"Open it!" Jenna urged.

Freema turned it around and opened it up, digging around inside. "It's David's. What's David's wallet doing here?"

Karen told them about the very early visit she'd received from three drunk men. They were in stitches for the rest of the photos and when they were developed, those happened to be the liveliest and best taken that day.

Half an hour later, two cars pulled up in front of the house. The first was for Karen and her father, and the second for her mother and the bridesmaids. Jenna caught up with Karen before she could get in.

"You all right?"

"Yeah. My dad just said the door's always open if I want to come home."

Jenna rubbed her arm. "But that's good. Isn't it? Big change from how he was before. Not chucking you out for good this time!"

Karen rolled her eyes. "Have you a cigarette?"

"No. But I can get you one."

"It doesn't matter."

"You've the rest of your life to prove him wrong, Karen," Jenna said, moving into her line of sight. "So prove him wrong. Make him wait forever for you to come home."

Karen would never admit it, but her father's approval meant more to her than she let on. Perhaps she didn't even realise how important it was to her, but Jenna did. Certainly, she'd rebelled - fashion, work, friends and most obviously, her choice of partner. At the centre of it all, Karen wanted her father to accept her as she was. She would've cut him out long ago had she stopped caring. 

"Are you still going to do it?" Jenna whispered as her father came toward the car with the chauffeur. She felt a little zing of excitement ripple through her.

"You bet we are," Karen declared, then raised her voice. "Ready, dad?"

The sun was shining on St Mary's the Boltons when the cars drew up outside. The photographer was ready, having reached the church before them at breakneck speed. His camera clicked furiously as Karen stepped out of the car. Jenna helped her with her dress. It was almost white, hemming a few inches above her knees, and the sleeves were fitted lace. In the past few months she'd let her hair grow out. It now hung past her shoulders. 

"Lovely," she smiled.

"Jenna," Karen took her by the hand.

Her first thought was that something was wrong. Karen had expressed her thanks to her bridesmaids after a breakfast together, passing them all gifts. Small, extravagant gifts: each girl received a set of silver splayds and a little heart-shaped pocket of potpourri for their delicates drawer.

"I couldn't have done it without you."

"Done what?" Jenna leaned back, puzzled.

"Gotten all this started. You inspired me, you know. To start working. I'd never have met him if it wasn't for that."

Jenna squeezed her hand and grinned. She didn't know what to say to that, so she said something else. "Are you nervous?"

The bride shook her head. "No. I've never wanted something so much my whole life."

Jenna stepped aside as Mrs Gillan took over to arrange her embroidered veil. "Everything's ready."

"Matt's inside?"

"Yes, love."

"He's waiting in there. For me. How does he look? Does he look nervous?"

Mrs Gillan stopped fussing. "No ... he was laughing about something with that David fellow. He should look nervous. Grooms are supposed to be nervous," she added in a mutter, seemingly put off that Matt was not behaving as she thought he should. Then she smiled and kissed her daughter's cheek. "Good luck, darling."

Jenna moved away to give them some privacy and joined Laura and Freema at the door. Not long after, Mrs Gillan went inside with the photographer. Karen waited at the bottom of the steps, arm in arm with her father. The music inside changed, and Karen nodded at her. _Go._

Freema was first to walk, then Jenna, and finally Laura. Jenna's top priority was to find Richard; once she had spotted him she allowed her gaze to wander to the front. There was Matt with David, Gareth and Arthur. She found herself thinking along the same lines as Mrs Gillan - grooms _were_ meant to be nervous, but Matt looked as though he did this every day. And in a way, he did. He and Karen had been living together for almost a year. How time had flown! It wouldn't be that way when she married Richard. She would be moving into his flat once they were back from the honeymoon. It was a far more traditional, though less exciting, transition. 

Laura had just arrived beside her when the music changed again. Jenna, like everyone else, was anticipating the Bridal March. She looked expectantly at the doors - and almost dropped her bouquet in shock. The organ was _not_ playing the Bridal March. It was playing a _Beatles_ song! _In My Life._

Open-mouthed, Jenna turned to Laura. From the smug look on her face she'd been in on it. Just how many little personal twists had Matt and Karen wrangled for their bloody wedding? Couldn't they do _anything_ traditionally? She looked from Matt, who seemed completely at ease with the development, to Karen, who was walking up the aisle, patting her father's arm.

At least he hadn't pitched a tantrum and demanded they do it over. 

Mr Gillan and the bride reached the altar. She saw Matt gently tug Karen's veil and say something, too soft to hear, and then they both turned to face the Vicar.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony..."

Jenna spent most of the service wondering how on earth they had convinced the parish to allow them to use untraditional music. And when she tuned back in she realised the vows themselves were also ... different. Oh, it was all there, but altered slightly. Edited, to better reflect and express themselves. Jenna looked at the Vicar. Here was somebody moving with the times! She wondered if Karen's parents had known about this, or if they even noticed. Perhaps it was just her, given that she'd been looking into these things since Christmas, practicing the lines in the mirror...

Mr Gillan, at the prompting of the Vicar, placed his daughter's hand in Matt's and stepped away, taking his seat by his wife. Jenna wondered how it felt to him. Was he relieved, perhaps, that it was finally official and traditional and decent, and his daughter was no longer living in sin? Perhaps he was embarrassed that after all his protestations the union had gone ahead after all. Or maybe his heart was heavy with dread, and he wished only that it was over. Jenna stopped caring, her own spirit light, full of excitement for all their futures.

"I Matthew Robert Smith, take thee Karen Sheila Gillan to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

Matt had remembered it, completely, with no prompting from the Vicar. Jenna saw his fingers squeezing Karen's, heard the tremble of emotion in his voice which would carry the length of the church.

"I Karen Sheila Gillan, take thee Matthew Robert Smith to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

It was a _lot_ to remember, Jenna thought, and she felt a stab of fear that she would not be able to recall it when her time came. She watched as Laura took Karen's flowers and the ring was presented. And then it all felt very real.

Everything was changing. Yes, Matt and Karen had lived together all this time, been together all this time ... but the ceremony was significant. A rite of passage; they were all growing up. Jenna suddenly felt a fierce little fire in her heart burn bright. A love for Richard, for Matt and Karen, for all of her friends with whom she had spent so many hours listening to records or lazing about. They all stood together on the cusp of something magnificent and this, _this_ was the beginning of the time of their lives.

Matt slid the ring on to Karen's finger. "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Some things about the ceremony could not have been altered; she was willing to bet they'd tried with that part. 

"Let us pray."

She felt Freema nudging her. "You all right?"

Jenna nodded quickly, blinking back the tears she hadn't felt forming. Oh goodness, she was going to be a crier? She hadn't anticipated being a crier! She didn't _want_ to be the crier! She pulled herself together by the time the prayer was finished and hoped her face hadn't gone ruddy.

"Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder," the Vicar's voice rang out. "Forasmuch as Matthew and Karen have consented together in holy Wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of rings, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

He blessed them and Matt lifted Karen's veil. Jenna could only see his face. At the time, she had difficulty finding the right word to describe it. Years later, when she looked back, only one, perfect word would come to mind. _Peace._

Matt kissed her gently at first, and then a little harder until she was bent slightly back. Her arms were elegantly stretched over his shoulders. The kiss broke and a few quiet words exchanged as they straightened up, another kiss or maybe two ... and then it was on.

They ran. Their hands were clasped as though they would never let go. Jenna shot a look across the altar and caught Arthur's eye - he nodded and laughed and then they were chasing them. Jenna almost collided with Richard on the way as a tide of people spilled out of the church. They narrowly avoided knocking down an old man sweeping the steps who, gazing after Matt and Karen, did not even notice them.

"How are they going to get there?" Jenna breathlessly asked Arthur. She could hear Mr Gillan shouting in outrage, something about indecency. 

"Gareth was going to take them!" Arthur answered, hurrying to the gate, forcing Jenna and Richard to follow if they wanted to hear anymore. "But they're just - where are they even going? Oh god, Karen's bloody shoe .. what are...?"

Mr Capaldi and his daughter, Cecily, passed by. He plucked his cigarette from his mouth as he drew level, slowing down.

"You lot got your rides sorted?"

"Yeah, but them," Richard gestured, "they're supposed to be going with Gareth..."

"They'll sort themselves out," Mr Capaldi shrugged, moving on. "See you at the cafe! Remember! Private party!"

"I suppose we should get a move on," Richard said, glancing around. "We don't want to be caught behind when they start asking questions...."

"No," Jenna agreed. Arthur had already disappeared from their side. The secret reception had a very small guest list and an organised carpooling system - which the newly anointed bride and groom had just torn into shreds. "Where's your car?"

"They're on the _bus!_ " Somebody shouted near Jenna's ear. She turned around just in time to see Karen's bouquet spinning through the air. She threw up her hands to catch it, petals going everywhere.

Jenna looked up at Richard, a funny little grin on her face. "Well, you definitely have to, now."

He bent to kiss her but she was swept up in a wild hug from Ines. The crowd began to thin now the attraction was gone and she could hear Mr Gillan asking anyone who'd listen for answers. The time had well and truly come to get as far away from St Mary's the Boltons as possible. Clutching her flowers and Richard's hand, they began to make their getaway. But when they reached the gate the old man they'd almost run into was waiting, broom in hand, a question on his lips.

"Who were they?"

"That," Jenna replied, "was Mr and Mrs Smith."


End file.
